A Dark Night, Long Ago
by Silent Number
Summary: A secret from Carter's past comes back to haunt him. Strong adult content, strong coarse language. Some readers may find Chapter 12 intense.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Hogan's Heroes or any of the characters.

"Well, I don't care what you guys think. I like it here," said Andrew Carter.

He leaned his back against the door frame, smiling at the astonishment on the faces of Peter Newkirk and Louis LeBeau.

"Carter, you've lost your marbles," said Newkirk. "You've been locked up here too long."

LeBeau was shaking his head. "And I thought the English were crazy."

"It's not crazy," Carter insisted. "Just think about it. Sure, I know, it's a prison camp, and it's a bit rough, and not so comfortable. And not very clean. And there's fleas. And Krauts."

"I suppose you'll get to the point, eventually," murmured Newkirk, in a tired voice.

"The point is, we're all in it together. I mean, we're all buddies, right?"

"Sometimes, I don't know about that, Andrew." Newkirk folded his arms, looking as if he was wondering what he'd done to deserve being landed in the same prisoner-of-war camp as the American sergeant.

Carter wasn't at all discouraged. "Because there's a lot of guys here, and you'd think some of them wouldn't be so easy to get along with. But it's like…"

"You don't get on with all of them," interrupted LeBeau. "What about Mills?"

"Well, it's not that I don't…I mean, it's just that…" Carter floundered as he tried to explain why, of all the men who shared Barracks 2, there was only one he seemed uncomfortable with. Both LeBeau and Newkirk thought they knew the reason, but they didn't offer to help him out.

It was the only point where Carter's good nature failed. Mills was a nice guy, but as one of the other prisoners had once remarked, "Don't turn your back on him in the showers." In fact, Mills kept his leanings strictly to himself, and the general attitude, taking its cue from the senior POW officer, was one of tolerance. Colonel Hogan wouldn't allow any prejudice at Stalag 13. As far as he was concerned, Mills was a capable soldier, a useful part of the subversive operation based here, and a man who could be trusted, so that was everyone else's opinion, too.

This made Carter's attitude seem all the more surprising. He was normally pretty easy-going, but he had never been at ease with Mills, nor Mills with him, and nobody could think of any other reason to account for it. Newkirk sometimes wondered if there was something else, some past history between them, but it didn't seem possible. They'd both served in the 182nd, but not at the same time. Carter had been transferred out shortly before Mills had arrived there. Anyway, whatever the problem was, neither of them would admit there even was a problem.

Carter's present embarrassment was brought to a close by the arrival at the gate of an army truck. It drove into the compound, stopping in front of the Kommandant's office.

"Looks like we've got new residents," said Newkirk.

LeBeau pushed past Carter to get into the barracks and let Colonel Hogan know, while the other two watched the newcomers getting out of the back of the truck. There were five of them, all Americans.

"Just what we need, more Yanks," observed Newkirk. Then, as Carter made no protest at this deliberate provocation, he turned to look at him. "Carter…?"

He was shocked. Carter's usual good humor was gone. His face was white, and his eyes steely.

"I think I'll go inside," he said. "The air's not so good out here."

He vanished into the barracks, closing the door behind him. Newkirk looked again at the five new arrivals. They seemed ordinary enough. He couldn't understand Carter's reaction at all.

Colonel Hogan came out of the barracks. "What's wrong with Carter?" he asked.

"Beats me, Colonel. He took one look at those new blokes, and he just..." Newkirk shrugged.

Hogan stared at the five men, wondering what about them had affected Carter so badly. "Guess I better go and introduce myself," he said.

The senior officer among the new arrivals saluted as he approached.

Hogan introduced himself. "Colonel Hogan, senior POW officer."

"Lieutenant Simms. These men are my crew, what's left of it. Fuller, Jackson, Sharpe and Gardner. Shot down three days ago over Cologne."

Hogan looked at the other four men. There was nothing unusual about any of them.

"Welcome to Hammelburg Grand Hotel," he said, and a couple of them grinned.

Kommandant Klink had come out on to the steps of the office. He stood looking down on Hogan and the new prisoners. "Gentlemen, you have arrived at the most secure prison camp in all of Germany," he announced. "There has never been an escape from Stalag 13. You must resign yourselves to the fact that your part in this war is over. From now on, this will be your home. And make no mistake, not only are we vigilant, but we are tough. Any breach of the regulations will be punished, most severely."

"He's really a pussycat," said Hogan.

"Silence, Hogan. Now, I understand you men all belonged to the same air crew, and I'm sure you would like to remain together. For that reason," Klink's eyes gleamed, "you will each be assigned to a different barracks."

"Oh, Kommandant, that's just mean," said Hogan. He glanced at the newcomers. Four of them, including Simms, were unmoved, but he thought he could see a look of relief on one face.

"Hogan, I will leave you to explain to these men how their lives will be from now on," Klink finished up. "Schultz, take them to the barracks. Dismissed."

Sergeant Schultz came to take the men to the barracks. "Colonel Hogan, there are spare beds in Barracks 3, 4, 8, 9 and 12. Perhaps the lieutenant would be most comfortable..."

"You're quite right, Schultz. Barracks 12 is a little classier than the others. You'll like it, Simms. It has a great view of the machine gun nest," said Hogan.

He didn't know yet which of these men had caused Carter's unusual behavior, and until he did, it was better if the lieutenant was not in a barracks where he would be the senior ranked officer. Barracks 12, currently under the eye of Lieutenant Atherton of the RAF, was the only option.

Hogan watched as Schultz escorted the five newcomers to their barracks. He wasn't yet sure, but he had a feeling that there was trouble ahead, and Carter was going to be at the center of it.


	2. Chapter 2

Hogan returned to the barracks. Carter was sitting on his bunk, darning a sock, badly. LeBeau, apparently absorbed in preparing dinner, was watching him covertly. He raised his eyebrows at Hogan, and gave a shrug.

"Carter, I need to talk to you," said Hogan.

Carter didn't look up. "Can I just finish this, Colonel?" he said. He seemed distracted, as if the sock needed all of his attention.

"Now, Carter."

When Hogan spoke like that, his men listened. For a few seconds, Carter kept his head bent over the sock, before he put it aside, and followed Hogan into his office. There was a strange, closed look on his face, and he didn't make eye contact. It wasn't like him.

"Okay, Carter," said Hogan. "What's the story?"

"About what, Colonel?" Carter still didn't look up.

"I think you know, Carter. You know something about one of those new guys." Hogan paused. Carter's face reddened, but he didn't answer.

"Carter, if there's anything I need to be told about..."

"There isn't," Carter interrupted, then pinched his lips together, determined not to say one more word.

He wasn't usually very good at keeping quiet. Hogan waited, sure that he'd speak eventually, but it looked like this time was going to be different.

"Okay, we'll leave it at that," said Hogan at last. "But if I find out there's something you should have mentioned and didn't...well, put it this way, Carter, if you do think of anything, you better let me know."

Carter made a vague noise that might have been agreement, and backed out of the office. The barracks was crowded, almost everyone was there. With an attempt at nonchalance, he made his way over to the bunk that concealed the entrance to the tunnel.

"Going down below, Carter?" asked Newkirk casually.

Carter went red again. "Yeah, I got some work to do in the lab," he said. "Just some work. That's all."

"You didn't finish darning that sock yet," remarked LeBeau.

"For crying out loud, LeBeau," Carter burst out, "when did they make you sock monitor around here?"

Then, seeing the looks of astonishment all around, he went even redder, and vanished into the tunnel without another word.

LeBeau looked at Newkirk, astounded. "_Qu'est-ce que c'est_, sock monitor?" he asked. Newkirk was too confused to answer.

Carter descended fast, and he was breathless when he arrived at the foot of the ladder. He looked over at Kinch, who was waiting at the radio for a message from London.

"Just going to tidy up the lab," he said quickly, and hurried off down the tunnel before Kinch could answer. He paused by the entrance to the lab, in case anyone was following him, then continued further, until he reached the blind tunnel.

This was the oldest and deepest of the underground passages at Stalag 13, a genuine escape tunnel dating from before Colonel Hogan had arrived. It came to a sudden end, further digging blocked by a mass of hard impenetrable granite. The space was used for storage, mostly of broken equipment and rarely-needed supplies.

Carter knew it well. He'd found this place within a few days of his arrival as a prisoner at Stalag 13. For the first few months, he had needed a sanctuary, somewhere he could hide when his feelings of shame and despair and sheer unreasoning panic got out of control, when he was afraid the front he was maintaining with such determination was about to break. He had found just such a place behind the untidy heap of boxes, timbers and other junk in the blind tunnel. But it was a long time since he'd felt the need to come down here. He'd almost come to believe it was over.

Stupid of him, of course. It would never be over.

He squeezed through the narrow space between the stacked materials and the wall, following the path he had cleared for himself back then, to the furthest point, close to the rock face. It was cold here, colder than anywhere else in the tunnels. Reaching the end, Carter crouched against the wall, with his head on his knees. He couldn't risk making any sound, other than an occasional catch in his breath. Noises carried a long way in the tunnels. If he wasn't careful someone might hear him, and he couldn't let that happen.

He never kept track of time when he was here, so it came as a shock when he heard Newkirk's voice: "Carter? Are you down here? Come on, stop mucking about. It's freezing down here."

Carter came to himself with a gasp. He got up, hastily rubbing away the marks of the few tears he hadn't been able to suppress, and slipped back past the boxes.

Newkirk was peering over the top of a stack of wooden crates. He swung round as Carter cleared his throat. "Blimey, Andrew, where were you? And what are you doing down here?"

"Just looking for something," replied Carter. "Uh...there was an old camera tripod down here somewhere. I thought maybe I could fix it."

"In your free time, which you've got so much of," said Newkirk. "Did you find it?"

"Not yet. I guess it's not here after all. Come to think of it, maybe it's in the metal shop." Carter was trying to act normally, and he knew he was overdoing it, but he couldn't help it. Anything was better than having Newkirk guess the truth.

Newkirk was already curious. "Carter, is something bothering you?" he asked.

Carter managed a wide-eyed, innocent look. "Bothering me? What would I be bothered about, Newkirk?"

"If I knew that, I wouldn't need to ask, would I?" Newkirk put his hand on Carter's shoulder. "Come on, Carter, you know there's nothing you can't tell me."

Carter almost lost it, then and there. Newkirk was his closest friend, a man he trusted with his life. But he couldn't tell him, not about this. He kept steady, although it was several seconds before he could reply. "There's nothing bothering me, Newkirk. Only that I can't find that tripod. I guess I should go look in the metal shop." He backed away quickly, with a nervous smile.

"Better leave it for now, Carter," said Newkirk. "The colonel sent me to look for you. We've got an assignment. Priority one."

With a sigh, Carter followed him back to the barracks. If there was work, he had to do his part. No matter how unprepared he felt. No matter how scared he was. And for the first time in many months, he was desperately scared.

_They had to send him here_, he thought. _Out of the whole of Germany, they just had to send him here._


	3. Chapter 3

Carter hung back as they got to Hogan's quarters. While the others gathered around the table, he sidled across to the bunk, and leaned his shoulder against it, trying to look casual.

He thought he saw reproof in the look Hogan gave him. Well, there was going to be a lot of that, probably. He'd better get used to it.

In fact what Hogan was feeling wasn't disapproval but concern. The more he thought about it, the more uneasy he was. That Carter might have some kind of unfriendly relations with a new arrival was one thing, but his refusal to speak was much more disturbing. Usually they had trouble getting him to shut up.

He got on with the briefing. "We've just received instructions from headquarters. They're sending two men in by parachute tomorrow. At this stage we don't know what they're here for, they'll tell us when they get here. But it's top priority." He paused, then went on. "Newkirk, Carter, you two will go out through the emergency tunnel tomorrow night and bring them in."

He nodded dismissal, and his men started to leave. As they did, Hogan called Kinch back. "We need to find out more about the new prisoners," he said quietly. "Speak to all the barracks chiefs, tell them to ask the usual questions, and report back to you. As soon as you've got their full details, get on to London and see if there's anything in their background that we ought to know. Under no circumstances is anything to be given away to these guys, without my say-so. From now until further notice, those five barracks are inactive, they don't use the tunnels, they don't take part in any operations. Clear?"

Kinch nodded, raising his eyebrows.

"Good. Now, when Klink said they were being separated, one of them looked as if he was pretty pleased about it. It's worth trying to find out why. Find out which barracks Corporal Gardner was assigned to, and either go to work on him yourself or get someone reliable in the barracks to do it."

"Anything particular you're looking for, Colonel?" said Kinch

"I don't know yet."

Kinch hesitated, then asked, "Is it to do with Carter?"

Hogan sighed. "Like I said, Kinch. I don't know. But if anything links back to him, I want to know about it."

He rubbed the bridge of his nose thoughtfully, then added abruptly, "Remember when Carter passed through here, after he broke out of Stalag 5?"*

"Sure. We processed him as normal and sent him back to England."

"And three months later he was back. And suddenly he wasn't a lieutenant any more, he'd been demoted. And reassigned, from the 182nd to the 412th. We've never found out why."

"You think it might have something to do with the way he's acting now?" asked Kinch.

Hogan nodded slowly. "I think there's something there that needs looking into. While you're checking on the new guys, try to find out what happened when Carter got back to his squadron, and just why he was transferred. I know we had no luck with that before, but try anyway."

"You want to ask questions behind his back, Colonel?" said Kinch doubtfully. "It seems like you don't trust him."

"I don't _want_ to," replied Hogan. "But I think we may have to. Something's going on with him, and we need some answers. It's got nothing to do with trust. I don't think he's got anything to prove there, not after all this time."

"You know, he did seem different, when he first got back here," Kinch went on. "I couldn't put my finger on it, but he just seemed a little jumpier, less focused. But we never really got to know him the first time he was here, so I didn't give it much thought."

"None of us did, Kinch. We cleared him when he came through the first time, so when he turned up again we just put him to work and left it at that. Maybe I should have looked a bit closer."

"You don't think Carter's got anything to hide?" said Kinch. "He couldn't have, not Carter. You know what he's like at keeping secrets."

"I know. But I asked him about the new guys earlier, and he clammed up. There's something he doesn't want to tell us," Hogan concluded. "Something that's really worrying him. And in our line of work, that's something we don't need."

Kinch went out to start enquiries, now almost as troubled as the colonel.

Hogan stayed where he was, deep in thought. The feeling of unease that had bothered him all afternoon was getting stronger. He was beginning to think he'd made a mistake, when Carter had arrived, in not asking enough questions. There was a mystery that had never been explained, concerning Carter's loss of rank. It hadn't been a problem before, maybe it still wasn't going to be a problem, but he couldn't be sure until he knew more about it. And Carter wasn't being helpful.

Hogan didn't want to admit it yet, but he was worried. He was starting to ask himself how well he really knew his explosives expert, and he was afraid that maybe the answer was, not well enough.

* * *

_It's dark, and it's cold. And he can't move or speak. He's never felt so helpless, or so scared. _

_This can't be real. This can't be happening. _

Carter woke with a start. For several seconds he stared into the darkness, gasping for breath.

Then Newkirk stirred in the bunk above him. "Andrew?"

Carter huddled under the blanket, and closed his eyes. The bunk creaked as Newkirk leaned over the edge to look at him. There was silence for what seemed like a very long time, until Newkirk rolled back onto his mattress, and apparently went back to sleep. Cautiously, because he didn't want to be heard, Carter began to breathe again. But he didn't close his eyes again that night.

"Did you sleep alright, Carter?" said Newkirk the following morning, as he got dressed before roll-call.

"Sure. Why wouldn't I?" replied Carter casually. He had been careless the day before, he'd given himself away. He couldn't afford to do that again.

"No idea, Andrew. Only you got up a bit early, so I thought..."

"I just woke up early, that's all. It was cold last night." He couldn't help snapping. Newkirk was staring at him in perplexity, and from across the barracks, Kinch and LeBeau were looking as well. He'd felt safe here for so long, he'd almost given up hiding his feelings. Now he had to start all over again, and it was going to be harder, because these guys were his friends now, and they knew him better than they had when he first arrived.

Hogan came out of his quarters. His eye fell on Carter, and he frowned slightly. But before he could say anything, Schultz came into the barracks, to call the prisoners out for roll-call.

It was bitterly cold outside. The Kommandant was obviously reluctant to leave the shelter of his office, and he kept them waiting for several minutes. Carter found himself looking around at the prisoners lined up outside the other barracks, hoping he'd been mistaken the day before. He hadn't.

There he was, among the men of Barracks 8. Easy to spot, because he was taller than anyone around him. He was also gazing around, as new prisoners usually did, trying to get a handle on their new home. Carter shifted a bit to the right, so that he would be out of sight behind Newkirk. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kinch looking at him again. He shivered, and pulled his jacket closer around him.

_Maybe I should just tell the colonel._ The thought came out of the blue, and he shivered again, as he glanced at Hogan, standing just in front of him. He wanted to, more than he could have imagined. The colonel would understand. He would know what to do.

No, he wouldn't. Colonel Hogan would never believe it. And even if he did...

_It's no use. I can't tell him. I can't tell anyone._ And Carter turned his eyes towards the ground. He'd just have to go on dealing with it alone.

* * *

*The Informer - pilot episode


	4. Chapter 4

"Gin."

Newkirk laid his cards on the table, grinning complacently. With a sigh, Carter started adding up the points in his hand.

It was still icy cold, too cold for outdoor activities, so the prisoners remained in the barracks. With some idea of cheering his mate up, Newkirk had challenged Carter to a game. Usually Carter was pretty good, or pretty lucky, but his attention wasn't on it today.

A rush of cold air swept through the barracks as the door opened to let Kinch in. He ignored the complaints from the others, and went straight to the stove to thaw out. Hogan, who had been watching the card players, looked over at him, and he gave a slight shrug, before going quietly into the colonel's quarters. Hogan waited for a minute, checking that Carter was fully occupied, and then followed him, shaking his head slightly at LeBeau who looked as if he wanted to come too.

"What have you got?" he asked.

Kinch produced a sheet of paper from his pocket. "Well they've got all the right answers. They're with the 151st, based in Norfolk. Simms said they were shot down over Cologne, that checks out. I spoke to Gardner. He's been with them for about four months, straight out of basic training. Comes from Detroit, which was lucky, it gave us something to talk about. I sounded him out about the rest of them. Seems to think well of Simms, but I don't think he likes either Sharpe or Jackson. He didn't say why, but I got that impression."

Hogan nodded thoughtfully. "Okay. See if you can get anything from the fifth guy."

"Fuller. Already done." Kinch grinned at the look on Hogan's face. "He's much more upfront than Gardner. Apparently Sharpe gets nasty when he drinks, and he drinks a lot. And Jackson's good in the air, but on the ground Fuller doesn't trust him as far as he can throw him, though he can't give any reason for it."

"Any connection to Carter at all?"

"Not so far. You want me to ask London for more information?"

"Yeah. Those two in particular, but check the other three out as well."

"And Carter?" said Kinch reluctantly. "I hate to do it, Colonel."

"I know. I'm not happy with it either." Hogan went to the door, and opened it slightly. Carter was still playing cards with Newkirk. He looked more relaxed, he was even smiling a little. But there was a shadow there.

LeBeau was watching him surreptitiously, and from across the barracks Mills was doing the same. That was food for thought. Mills had been at the 182nd, perhaps he had heard something. It might be worth talking to him if the situation didn't improve.

Hogan closed the door again.

"Let it go for now," he said at last. "Maybe he'll come round, and let us know what the problem is, once he's had time to think about it. It may not even be anything serious. It's Carter, for Pete's sakes. How bad can it be?"

By nine o'clock, Carter looked pretty much back to normal, and Hogan, who had been considering sending LeBeau out in his place for the rendezvous, started to relax.

He gave his final instructions to Newkirk and Carter. "Okay, you meet these guys at rendezvous point M7, at 2300 hours. Their code name is Red Dawn, you use Papa Bear as normal. Bring them back through the emergency tunnel. Be careful out there, don't take any chances."

The warning was necessary. For some weeks they'd been aware they were not the only ones out in the woods at night. There had been vague half-sightings, unidentified but recognizably human, and voices had been heard. Nobody had taken it seriously until LeBeau had returned one night to report indignantly that someone had fired a gun at him. Since then, they had all taken extra care whenever they left camp. It was still a mystery.

"Always, Colonel," said Newkirk. He nodded to Carter, and they headed off.

There was no moon, and it was very dark in the woods. Newkirk led the way, as he had the surer sense of direction. He was aware that Carter seemed unusually jittery, starting at sounds that he would normally ignore.

"Settle down, Andrew," he whispered.

"Sorry. Just that it's dark," replied Carter.

"That's because it's night-time, Carter. If it was daylight, we wouldn't be strolling through the woods waiting for a patrol to start shooting at us, would we?"

Carter had nothing to say to that, but he stayed close as he followed Newkirk to the meeting point.

They had to wait for some time for the plane that was bringing the two visitors. It was something they were used to, all part of the routine. But Carter was really jumpy tonight. He didn't say much, but Newkirk could tell how tense he was. It was a relief when they heard the sound of the plane approaching. Newkirk moved a little, to clear the overhanging branches, and gave the flashlight signal.

"They've overshot the mark," he said, as two dark figures detached themselves from the plane and descended some distance away.

"Well, that's just great," muttered Carter. "We could be out half the night trying to find them." His voice was irritable, but Newkirk thought he could hear something else there, an unfamiliar nervous edge.

"You better stay here," he said. "I'll go and scout round."

Carter turned sharply. "Shouldn't we stay together?" he whispered. "There could be patrols or something."

"Which is why you wait, in case our men find their way here, and I go looking in case they don't. What's got into you, Carter?"

"Nothing. Okay, I'll stay." He sounded uncertain, and Newkirk hesitated. But there was no time to ask questions now, so he left it alone, and slipped away towards where the parachutes had descended. It was not far, but Carter's nervousness had got to him, and he was anxious to get to the new arrivals and get back before anything could go wrong.

It didn't take him long to make contact, and they were as edgy as he was. As he came into sight, both of them reached for their weapons.

"Okay, take it easy," said Newkirk quickly. "I'm with Papa Bear."

The two men didn't relax, but they didn't start shooting either. "Red Dawn," said one of them. "I'm Hughes, he's Vincent." He had a recognizable Welsh accent.

"Newkirk, Stalag 13. Got yourselves sorted out? Then let's not hang around. This way. And keep quiet, there might be German patrols."

It was half an hour since he had left Carter, and he was feeling uneasy without knowing why. He started back quickly, but had to slow down so he didn't lose his two companions. It was a relief when they reached the rendezvous point, and he saw Carter, still waiting where he'd been left, crouched against a tree trunk. Signing to the others to wait, Newkirk went forward quietly, and tapped Carter's shoulder.

Then he staggered back and almost fell, as Carter swung round and hit him in the face.

A suppressed exclamation came from one of the new arrivals. Newkirk was stunned at first, then furious. "What the hell...?" he hissed.

It was too dark to see Carter's face, but he could just be made out, standing slightly sideways, hands clenched.

"Carter, have you lost your mind? What the fuck was that for?"

Carter gasped. "Newkirk? What do you think you're doing, sneaking up on a guy like that?" he snapped, much too loudly.

"Keep your voice down. You're going to get us shot."

For several seconds nobody moved. Newkirk had never been so angry with Carter, or so confused. Then Carter breathed out, and his hands dropped to his sides.

"You scared me," he said.

"I'll do more than that, if you ever do anything like that again." Newkirk stopped abruptly, aware that Vincent and Hughes were staring at the pair of them. He could feel his cheek swelling, just below his left eye. This assignment was off to a great start.

"We'd better get back," he said, after a few moments. "Carter, you go ahead, where I can keep an eye on you.

He had kept his anger in check for now, although Carter was going to hear all about it later. But underneath was a deep, unsettling bewilderment.

What the hell was going on with Carter?


	5. Chapter 5

"_Mon colonel_, I need to talk to you." LeBeau had just come down from the barracks.

Hogan was in the radio room, waiting while Kinch received a transmission from headquarters. He was hoping it was the information they had requested on the new prisoners, although it was early for that.

"What's on your mind, LeBeau?" he asked.

"It's about Carter. Did you notice he never left the barracks all day, except for roll call?"

"It was pretty cold out," said Hogan slowly.

"When did that ever stop him? And he hardly ate anything today." Trust LeBeau to notice that. "Something is not right with him."

"Has he said anything?"

"Not a word. That's not like him, either," said LeBeau. "Ever since those new men arrived, he has not been himself. Everyone has noticed."

"Yeah. I've seen it, too, LeBeau," replied Hogan. "I asked him about it, but he's not talking. And if he won't talk, there's not much I can do about it."

"But if there's something wrong…"

"He's a grown man, LeBeau. If he's got a problem he can't deal with, he knows where to come." Hogan paused, noting that LeBeau still looked worried. "Okay, we're looking into it. But don't say anything to anyone. If it's something Carter prefers to keep to himself, he won't thank us for discussing it behind his back. The new guys only showed up yesterday. Give him a couple of days."

LeBeau nodded reluctantly. "If you say so, _mon colonel_."

Kinch took off the headphones. "Looks like we got something, Colonel." He glanced at LeBeau.

"Go ahead, Kinch," said Hogan.

"There's nothing on Simms, Gardner, Fuller or Sharpe," Kinch went on. "But Sergeant Jackson was at the 182nd, at the same time as Carter. And he was transferred out at around the same time."

"Jackson – he's the big guy, isn't he?"

"That's the one. He's in Barracks 8. Fuller said he didn't trust him."

"Any reason given for the transfer?"

"Apparently he applied for reassignment. No reason given."

Hogan frowned. "I haven't had a chance to speak to him yet."

"I did," said LeBeau. "He seems all right, but I didn't like him."

"Me neither," added Kinch. "But I couldn't tell you why."

After a bit of thought, Hogan sighed. "I don't like mysteries," he said. "They have a habit of turning into problems, and that's something we can't afford. Kinch, get back on to London, see if they can tell us if there was anything going on at the 182nd around the time Carter got back there."

He turned his head at the sound of approaching footsteps from the tunnel. Newkirk appeared first, then the two men he'd gone to meet. Carter came in last, and remained near the tunnel entrance.

"Did everything go okay?" asked Hogan. Then, as his eye fixed on the discoloration and swelling along Newkirk's cheekbone, his expression changed. "You ran into trouble?"

"You could say that, Colonel," said Newkirk. He glanced at Carter, who was looking at the floor. "But perhaps you should ask Carter about it. This is Hughes, and that's Vincent," he added, nodding at the two strangers.

Hogan didn't speak for several seconds. "Kinch, can you show these two where they'll be sleeping?" he said at last. "Newkirk, go and get changed. LeBeau, you can go and help him – see to that shiner," he added in an undertone. "Not you, Carter. You stay right there. The rest of you, back here in five minutes for a briefing."

He waited until the room was cleared before he spoke. "What happened?"

Carter didn't reply, nor did he look up.

"Carter, I want an answer. What happened?"

"I didn't know he was there. He startled me. I just did it without thinking," said Carter jerkily. Hogan waited for more, but that was all Carter meant to say.

"Okay, can you give me any reason why you would do that? You're not usually that jittery on assignment, Carter. If you were, you'd be no use to me. So what's the story?"

"There's no story, Colonel," replied Carter. "He scared me, so I hit him. That's all."

"That's not all, Carter, and we both know it. What am I supposed to do now?" said Hogan. "If I can't trust you to keep your nerve, then how can I send you out at all?"

Carter's face twitched, and he looked up for a moment, then bit his lip and returned his gaze to the floor. "I'm sorry, Colonel. I can't give you any excuse," he said.

Hogan regarded him silently for a moment. "I'm sorry, too, Carter," he said at last. "You'd better go up to the barracks and get some sleep. For the time being, you can stand down."

"For how long, Colonel?"

"I don't know. Until I make a decision, or until you pull yourself together."

Carter didn't answer, but turned abruptly and left the radio room. He passed Newkirk in the entrance, but didn't even look at him.

"Well?" Hogan turned a cold angry glare on Newkirk, who took a step back, and held up his hands.

"Don't ask me, Colonel. You could have knocked me down with a feather when he did that."

LeBeau had followed him in, and stood back against the wall with his arms folded. "I put cold water on it, _mon colonel_, but it's still going to look bad. The Krauts are sure to notice it."

"Then you better come up with an explanation for them, Newkirk," said Hogan.

Newkirk and LeBeau looked at each other. The colonel was in a foul mood, all right. But before either of them could think of anything to say, Kinch and the two new arrivals came back.

"Okay, what's the mission?" said Hogan, coming straight to the point.

Hughes and Vincent both seemed startled by his abruptness. Vincent was the older of the two, about forty, thin-faced and with a general air of distraction. Hughes looked tough and efficient, and he was the one who answered. "Do you have a map of the area?"

Kinch went to the map rack, and brought back a large chart which he spread out on the table. Hughes leaned over it, and pointed. "Samberg, about twenty miles east of Hammelburg. The Germans have a top-secret research laboratory there, working on an entirely new rocket program. The new missiles are much smaller than the ones they've been building up to now, and propelled by a new and very efficient fuel. As a result they have a much longer range than anything they've come up with previously, and because of the smaller mass they can be easily moved around and launched from almost anywhere. They carry a very powerful explosive charge, as destructive as anything they've produced up to date. Our information says they could be ready to start launching them within three months, and the results could be devastating."

"So the assignment is to take out the lab?" said Hogan.

"Yes – but before that, Vincent here has to get in and have a look at the production process for the rocket fuel."

"The process is the key to the success of the program," added Vincent. "If we can get an idea of how they're producing a fuel that burns so efficiently, we may be able to duplicate it. It could give us a big advantage going into the next stage of the war. We know what the ingredients are, but we can't work out how they're processed. So I need to get a look at the production equipment."

Hughes took over again. "Once Vincent's done his part, then the whole facility is to be put out of action. Because the project is so secret, all the plans and specifications, as well as the formula for the fuel, are stored onsite, and the research team are living there full-time. If we can take care of the whole lot at once, it will set them back years."

"And what's the plan for taking them out?" asked Hogan.

"Well, Colonel, that's where you come in," said Hughes. "We were told that you and your men would be able to help us work out the details and get into the place, and that you have a top-grade explosives expert available for the job."

Hogan closed his eyes. He had seen this coming, as soon as the laboratory was mentioned. "Oh, yes," he said quietly. "We've got one of the best."

This was just what he needed. A difficult assignment, and from the sound of things a dangerous one, that would probably test everyone to the limit. And the one man who couldn't be spared was the one man who was in no state to undertake such a mission.

He had no choice. "LeBeau," he said reluctantly, "go up to the barracks, and bring Carter down here."


	6. Chapter 6

Vincent produced a fold of paper from inside his flight jacket. "Our inside man in Berlin managed to get hold of a plan of the facility," he explained, spreading it out on top of the map. "At this stage production is on a relatively small scale. The rocket fuel is stored in an outbuilding here, behind the main building."

Hogan and Kinch leaned over the diagram. "That's pretty close, Colonel," observed Kinch.

Hogan nodded. "So we target that. If we can set off the fuel, it'll do some serious damage to the rest of the facility."

Just as Vincent started to reply, LeBeau came back down the ladder. "Carter's not there," he said.

Hogan raised his head at LeBeau's words. "Did he leave the barracks?" he asked sharply.

"Mills is awake, he says Carter never went up there."

Hogan turned to Newkirk. "Check the lab."

There was an awkward silence after Newkirk left. Vincent was the first to break it. "I don't want to speak out of turn," he said, "but your man Carter seems a little unstable. Do you have someone else?"

"Carter's okay," interrupted Hogan. "He'll do the job, all right."

Nobody spoke for some time. Vincent shifted restlessly, and Hughes began whistling through his teeth.

"Should I go look for them?" said LeBeau, when the delay had gotten long enough to be uncomfortable.

"No. Leave it to Newkirk. Vincent, what are the access points to the site?" Hogan bent over the ground plan again. He was frowning, but both Kinch and LeBeau could tell that it wasn't because he was angry.

Newkirk did not expect Carter to be in the lab, but he still felt a rush of anxiety at finding nobody there. He knew he should go straight back and report, but instead he turned, and headed towards the blind tunnel. He had a feeling that was where Carter would be.

It was dark down there, but he still had his flashlight with him. The beam of light showed no sign of anyone, and for a moment Newkirk almost felt sick with disappointment. Then he looked again. There was a gap, just wide enough to squeeze through, between the stacks of boxes and the wall. He eased his way through, and found his way past to the dead end.

Carter was there, all right, sitting cross-legged on the floor, leaning against the wall of rock that had prevented further excavation. He looked up as Newkirk approached, but didn't say anything.

"Colonel Hogan sent me to find you," said Newkirk. "Those two geezers need you for the job they've come to do."

Carter shook his head. "I'm stood down, Newkirk."

Newkirk wasn't sure what to do. He sat down next to Carter, his anxiety rising as he saw the look on Carter's face. A moment later, apparently without realizing it, Carter moved a few inches away from him, and hunched his shoulders.

"Look, Carter, I know you didn't mean it," said Newkirk at last. "I shouldn't have come up without warning like that."

Carter's shoulders twitched. "It doesn't make any difference," he said. "I still did it. And I'd probably do it again. Colonel's right. I can't be trusted."

"He never said that?"

Carter nodded.

Newkirk passed a hand across the back of his neck, as he tried to think of something to say. "Andrew, I don't know what's going on with you, and I'm not going to ask," he said at last. "But whatever it is, you can't let it stop you doing your job. There's work to do, and you're needed."

Carter sighed, looking away from Newkirk, as if he didn't want to hear him. Then he got to his feet, and started back to the main tunnel. Newkirk, deeply perturbed, followed.

There was a moment of embarrassment as they came into view of the others, and Carter came to a sudden halt as he met the looks of the five men around the table. Vincent and Hughes appeared curious, Kinch puzzled, LeBeau worried. He couldn't meet Hogan's sharp eyes.

"Carter, we've got a demolition job," said Hogan. He moved aside to make room for Carter to see the layout. "Rocket fuel manufacture, with some well-placed storage tanks. I'm thinking if we put a couple of charges on the tanks and set off the fuel, we can get a very nice little disaster going."

Carter came forward to look at the ground plan. "Yep. That could work," he said, after a moment. "You want two separate blasts, one to bust the tank open, then another one a few seconds later to ignite the fuel. I've got something that'd do the job."

He was outwardly calm. Too calm, thought Hogan. Usually he got wildly enthusiastic whenever the prospect of explosions was raised. But this time he stayed quiet and serious. The reason became clear when, after a moment of thought, he spoke again.

"You'll want someone along who can work out where the weak point is on the tanks. Usually it's going to be where the outlet valve is fitted, but if they've been poorly welded along the seam, putting the charge there could bust them wide open." He glanced sideways at Hogan. "Mills is probably the best man for the job. He's pretty clued up about stuff like that."

"Why should we need Mills? Won't you be there, Carter?" said LeBeau.

"Better not," replied Carter quietly.

There was a murmur of surprise from Kinch. Newkirk didn't say anything, but he looked troubled.

"We'll make a decision on that later," said Hogan at last. "You can start work on the demolition packs first thing tomorrow."

"I can start now, Colonel."

"No. You need to get some sleep. Tomorrow will be soon enough. We've still got to work out how we're getting inside. Newkirk, you and I will go out tomorrow night, with Hughes, and get a look at the security. Once we've done that, we'll have an idea what we're dealing with." He looked at his watch. "Okay. Let's leave it at that for now. Carter, LeBeau, back to the barracks. Kinch, see that Vincent and Hughes have everything they need for tonight. Newkirk..."

He waited till the others were out of earshot before he went on. "Where was he?"

"Down in the blind tunnel," replied Newkirk. "Looks like he's got a little bolt-hole down there that he's been keeping quiet about. I don't think he was very happy about me finding it. You know, I'm a bit bothered about him, Colonel. Something's really got to him, he's not himself at all."

Hogan folded his arms, and leaned against the wall, lost in thought. His expression was serious enough to prevent Newkirk from speaking. Finally he looked up.

"I'll talk to Mills, and put him on standby. In the meantime, I want you and LeBeau to keep an eye on Carter. Don't make it too obvious, but try not to let him out of your sight."

"Colonel, what's the deal?" said Newkirk.

"No deal, Newkirk," replied Hogan quietly. "I just want him watched for a few days, to be on the safe side. Clear? Now go and get some shut-eye."

He remained where he was, after Newkirk, still wondering, had gone up the ladder. A suspicion had taken form in his mind, vaguely at first, but coming into sharp focus when he'd heard how Carter had reacted when Newkirk surprised him.

_I can't tell you what I'm thinking, Newkirk. I might be wrong, and even if I'm right, he'd never forgive me if I said anything. But back when I first enlisted, one of the guys in my intake started acting strangely, and nobody knew why, till after they found him hanging from a tree in the woods. And even then, it wasn't till the__ rumor__ got around about what some bastard had done to him that I got it. _

_I hope I'm wrong. I hope to God I'm wrong. Because if it is that, then it's something that can't be fixed. We could lose him. And the son of a bitch responsible for it is probably right in this camp...and I can't lay a finger on him for it._


	7. Chapter 7

Morning roll call gave Hogan a chance to take a good look at Sergeant Jackson.

He had noticed the man on that first day only because of his height, but had not singled him out for attention. Now he had reason to take notice.

He was trying to keep an open mind. There was no evidence yet, only a tenuous link and an unconfirmed suspicion. Jackson could quite well turn out to be harmless. But Hogan's eyes narrowed unconsciously as he studied the man.

As soon as the prisoners were dismissed, he strolled across towards Barracks 8, and caught up with the new man just before he went inside.

"You're Jackson, right?" he said.

Jackson gave him a half-smile. "That's right, Colonel," he replied, in a soft, slightly hoarse voice.

"How are you settling in?"

"Not permanently, I hope." They both laughed at that, although it wasn't a new one on Hogan. He heard a variation on that theme from almost every new arrival.

"We'll see what we can do about that," he said. "It's tough. Like the Kommandant said, there's never been a successful escape - but that doesn't stop us trying. So you guys were with the 151st."

"Yeah. Good outfit, sure would like to get back there."

"Say, you might know a friend of mine, McNair. He was at the 151st until he got invalided out, a couple of years ago."

He wasn't sure, but he thought Jackson stiffened a little. "I haven't been there that long, sir," he said, after a brief hesitation. "I don't know any McNair."

"So you were with another squadron before?" persisted Hogan.

"Yes, sir. 182nd." Jackson shifted his weight back a little, although his eyes stayed steady on Hogan's face. "I didn't get on with some of the fellas there. You know how it is. So I applied for a transfer."

"Yeah, I guess I do know how it is," replied Hogan with a smile. "Well, if you need anything, speak to your senior barracks officer, or come and talk to me."

"I'll do that, sir. Thanks." Jackson went into his barracks, and Hogan turned and went back across the compound. Kinch was waiting for him at the door of Barracks 2.

"You don't like him either," he said.

Hogan gave a short laugh. "No, I don't like him. But I'm not exactly impartial. Where's Carter?"

"Already gone down below. LeBeau went with him. I don't think he got much sleep, Colonel."

"Any word from London about the 182nd?"

"Nothing so far. They'll get back to us."

"Stay on it."

Hogan went into the barracks and looked around. "Mills, can you come into my office?" he said.

Mills, who had just finished making up his bunk, looked up. "Sure, colonel," he replied. He gave the blanket a final twitch, and followed Hogan into the office.

"We have a slight problem," Hogan began, as soon as the door was closed. "I may need you to come along on our next outside job." He paused, regarding Mills intently. Then he continued. "You've probably noticed, Carter's been a bit..."

"Yeah." Mills looked down, his face reddening.

"He's preparing the explosives, but as things stand I'm not sure I want to send him out on the mission."

"Why me, Colonel?" asked Mills.

"Carter's idea. He says you can handle it. You better go and talk to him, he'll clue you up on it."

"Yes, sir. Anything else?"

"No, that's all. Wait, there is something else." As Mills had turned to leave, Hogan made a sudden decision. "You were at the 182nd, right?"

"That's right, Colonel," said Mills.

"You arrived there not long after Carter was reassigned."

"Yes, sir."

"Is there anything you're aware of that might account for how Carter's been acting for the last couple of days?" It was the nearest Hogan could come to voicing the suspicion that was troubling him.

Mills' eyebrows contracted. "What sort of thing do you mean, Colonel?" he asked.

"Anything at all. Anything unusual happen there, just before you arrived?"

There was a pause, while Mills considered the question. "I couldn't say, sir. Have you asked Carter?" he said at last.

"Carter's not being very talkative right now."

"Well, I don't know how I can help you, Colonel," replied Mills. "There's nothing I can tell you." He met Hogan's eyes with perfect frankness, but Hogan didn't quite buy it. There wasn't a man in camp better at hiding things than Mills.

"Okay. If you think of anything, come and tell me," said Hogan. "Carter's down in the bomb factory. Go and give him a hand."

As they came out of the office, Schultz entered the barracks.

"Morning, Schultz," said Hogan. "Early for barracks inspection, isn't it?"

"I want to speak to LeBeau," replied Schultz. "I have a favor to...where is he? He should be in the barracks."

LeBeau was in the tunnel with Carter, but they couldn't tell Schultz that. Newkirk took up the task of diversion. "He said something about doing some laundry, Schultz. He spilled the burgundy all down the front of his jumper last night. He's probably washing it out right now."

"In this weather?" said Schultz wonderingly, not even bothering to ask how LeBeau would have had burgundy to spill. As usual, he preferred to know nothing.

"Has to be done, Schultz, or the stain'll never come out," replied Hogan. "What do you want him for, anyway?"

"My daughter has a birthday next week. I thought LeBeau might bake a cake for her. Otherwise my wife will have to make it, and it's not so good when she bakes. We have the fire brigade out so often, they invite us to their Christmas party."

Schultz turned to leave, then stopped. "Oh, by the way, Colonel Hogan, the Kommandant wants to see you and Newkirk in his office right away."

Hogan glanced at Newkirk. The bruising below his eye was obvious, Klink must have seen it at roll call. It was a safe bet the Kommandant was going to ask questions about it.

"Well, I don't know, Schultz," said Hogan. "Did he make an appointment? Newkirk's a busy man, his schedule's pretty well booked out for the next week."

Newkirk smirked as Schultz turned to look at him. "I might be able to fit him in some time next Thursday, Schultz, after the polo match and before my strategy meeting with the Prime Minister."

Schultz made a grumbling noise. "Jolly jokers. Kommandant Klink said right away. So please, at least make it before lunch." He went off in search of LeBeau.

"Mills, when you get down to the workshop, send LeBeau back up, and stay down there till he gets back," said Hogan. "Newkirk, let's not keep our favorite Kraut waiting."

The Kommandant greeted them genially, which was always a bad sign. "Good morning, gentlemen. I trust you slept well."

"Perfectly well, Kommandant," said Hogan. "How about you, Newkirk?"

"Like a log, sir," replied Newkirk.

"Nothing unusual happened during the night? Nothing out of the ordinary?" persisted Klink. "No disturbances of any kind in the barracks?"

Hogan and Newkirk looked at each other. Newkirk shrugged, and Hogan shook his head. "Nothing ever happens in the barracks," he said despondently.

Klink stood up, and walked around the desk, stopping in front of Newkirk. "Then how do you account for that?" he asked.

"For what, Kommandant?" asked Hogan, in a bewildered voice, while Newkirk blinked, with an air of mild puzzlement.

"This man has a black eye. Now, Hogan, let me make it clear, I will not tolerate fighting among the prisoners."

Hogan peered at Newkirk's face. "By golly, you're right, Kommandant. Newkirk, how on earth did you get that?"

"Walked into a door, sir," replied Newkirk.

"You walked into a door." Klink shook his head. "Newkirk, that's the oldest excuse in the book."

"Well, you can't beat the classics, Kommandant," said Hogan.

"What kind of a fool do you think I am?"

"Gosh, sir, that's a hard one. I mean, how many kinds are there?"

"Hogan, I will not put up with this. The next time any of the prisoners are caught fighting, they will go straight to the cooler. No exceptions. Is that understood? Now get this man out of my sight, before I decide to make an example of him."

"He must have had a bad night, Colonel," remarked Newkirk, as he preceded Hogan out of the office. "Some kind of disturbance, maybe."

"Maybe he should try sleeping in the barracks," replied Hogan thoughtfully. "Nothing ever happens there."


	8. Chapter 8

Mills went down the tunnel to the bomb-making workroom, where Carter was assembling the charges for the rocket facility. Normally he worked alone, and he didn't look happy about having LeBeau hanging around. But the Frenchman wouldn't go away, so he had to put up with it. He didn't pay any attention when Mills came into sight.

"Colonel Hogan sent me down to give you a hand," said Mills. "LeBeau, Schultz is looking for you. I'll stay till you get back," he added quietly.

There was silence after LeBeau left. Carter kept working, as if Mills wasn't there.

"You know, don't you?" he said at last. Mills flushed, and looked down at the floor.

"What do they do there, include it in the briefing for new arrivals?" added Carter bitterly. "Why don't they just put it into general orders and tell the whole army?"

"It wasn't like that, Carter," said Mills. Carter didn't reply, and after a pause, Mills went on. "The guys that told me thought I ought to know, because of..." He broke off. "They kept your name out of it."

"You still worked it out."

"Only after I got here, and found out you'd been at the 182nd. And even then I wasn't sure, till now."

Carter remained silent for a while, and then he pushed the completed assemblage across the table. "You can fit the timer," he said. "See if you really know what you're doing."

He looked on critically while Mills finished the construction. "That's pretty good," he said. "I guess you'll be okay."

Mills leaned back, watching as Carter inspected his handiwork.

"Carter, you're not thinking of doing anything stupid, are you?" he asked.

Carter looked up. For a second he didn't seem to get it, then his eyes widened.

"You got some nerve, asking me a question like that," he said. "You think I'm dumb enough that I don't know how much trouble that'd cause?" He shook his head in disbelief, and went back to work.

"Sorry," murmured Mills.

"It's not like I haven't made enough of a mess of things already," added Carter.

"You didn't do anything wrong." Mills paused, biting his lip. "You thought about it."

Carter gave an impatient shrug. "Long time ago. Not now." His manner wasn't encouraging, but Mills relaxed slightly.

"Look, Carter, it's none of my business," he said after a couple of minutes. "But if you don't want half the men in camp asking questions, you better pull yourself together." As Carter looked up again, he went on quickly. "I know. Not easy." He knew all about that. Boy, did he ever know about that. But it wouldn't help Carter to go into details.

The sound of footsteps in the passage alerted them to LeBeau's return. Carter bent over his work, and Mills rested his elbows on the table, watching with interest.

"Did Schultz find you?" he asked, without looking up.

LeBeau glowered. "Where does he think I'm going to get the ingredients for a cake? Doesn't he know there's a war on? It can't be done."

"You made a cake last week, for Kinch's birthday," said Carter.

"What's your point, Carter?" replied LeBeau, genuinely puzzled.

A half-suppressed smile crossed Mills' face. Carter looked up at him, and his lips twitched. He didn't say anything, but the crease between his eyebrows softened a little. For just a moment, it seemed as if things were getting back to normal. But then he tensed up again.

LeBeau and Mills exchanged looks. Mills knew more than LeBeau, but both of them recognized that the problem wasn't going to be fixed as easily as that.

* * *

It was after lights out. Kinch looked up as Hogan came into the radio room. "Still no information, Colonel."

Hogan, already dressed as a Luftwaffe major in readiness for the evening's mission, frowned. "What's taking them so long?"

"It's not twenty-four hours yet," Kinch pointed out, slightly on the defensive. He hesitated, then went on, "Colonel, you're really worked up about this. What's up?"

"Not sure yet," replied Hogan. Even if he had been certain, he wasn't prepared to discuss the matter.

"Look, why don't we just get rid of Jackson? We could convince Klink to transfer him to another camp," Kinch said.

"It's not that simple, Kinch. I want him out, but I don't want Simms and the rest of his crew asking awkward questions about it. We have to make sure it's done the right way."

_And it may not solve the problem_. Another thought he had to keep to himself. Carter seemed less wound up today, but Hogan was still watching him closely, and he wasn't happy with what he saw.

"I don't think Fuller or Gardner will object. I can sound out Simms and Sharpe, if you want," suggested Kinch

Hogan glanced over his shoulder, as Hughes, also in German uniform, appeared from the tunnel. "Do that," he said quietly.

Kinch nodded, glancing sharply at the Welsh commando, and changed the subject. "Newkirk's gone to pick up the car from the motor pool. He'll meet you at the crossroad in twenty minutes," he said, checking his watch.

"Good. You ready, Hughes?"

"Never thought I'd be seen abroad in this outfit," remarked Hughes. "Newkirk does good work."

"Too good, sometimes," replied Hogan. "He just can't bring himself to do a second-rate tailoring job. It's going to get us caught one day. The real Kraut uniforms give out at the seams." He gave Kinch a final nod. "Keep an eye on things," he said, and led the way to the emergency exit.

A quick check with the periscope confirmed that the way was clear. "I'll go up first," said Hogan. "You wait sixty seconds, then follow. If the exit is closed, wait for me to open it. We'll be in range of the spotlight, so we play it safe."

Hughes followed his orders to the letter. He was exactly what he appeared, reliable and competent. They reached the meeting point safely a few minutes before Newkirk arrived with the car.

"All okay?" asked Hogan.

"Bleedin' sergeant at the motor pool made me pay a deposit," replied Newkirk indignantly. "Anyone would think he doesn't trust us."

"I hope you got a receipt," said Hogan. "Otherwise Kinch won't let you get it back from petty cash."

It took almost an hour to reach the target. Leaving the car a short distance away, they approached on foot, keeping to the cover of the forest that surrounded the rocket research laboratory.

"Clearance zone around the perimeter," murmured Hogan thoughtfully. "What would you say, Newkirk - fifty yards?"

"Easily, sir. Fence is electrified, too."

"Only one gate, and that's pretty well guarded," Hogan went on. "And spotlights, as well. If Stalag 13 was that secure, we'd never get anything done."

"Can you get us inside?" asked Hughes.

Hogan nodded. "Should be manageable. We'll have to go in the gate. I'm thinking SS - maybe Gestapo."

"Take a couple of days to get the uniforms done, Colonel," observed Newkirk.

"Okay, let's say Friday night. We'll work out the details back at camp. Let's go."

Newkirk dropped the other two off at the crossroad, before taking the car back to the motor pool. It was now almost pitch dark in the woods, and Hogan made his way through the trees with caution. They were within yards of the tunnel entrance when Hogan stopped. He had heard something, a rustling in the bushes.

He gestured to Hughes, and moved behind a tree trunk. Hughes took up position a little way distant, and they waited. Something moved in the darkness, crossing from one stand of trees to another. It could be their unknown forest friend, the one who had shot at LeBeau a couple of weeks earlier.

Hogan edged forward, scanning the darkness. His foot caught in a tree root, and he stumbled. He quickly regained his footing, but the noise had alerted the stranger, and the sound of running footsteps indicated that there was no chance of solving that problem tonight.

Another mystery. Just what Hogan needed. He cursed under his breath, and set off, with Hughes close behind, back to camp.


	9. Chapter 9

Carter, reluctantly accepting help from Mills, had finished preparing the explosive packs before Hogan and the others headed off for the reconnaissance mission. It left him at a loose end the following day, too restless to stay still, but not sure what to do with himself. He knew he wouldn't be going along on the assignment, even though nothing had been said. His part in it was done.

He was trying to follow Mills' advice, and get a grip, but so far it wasn't going well.

He knew he was being watched over. For the last day or so, every time he turned around, LeBeau or Newkirk was there, or Mills was somewhere nearby. He couldn't even sneak away to the blind tunnel any more, now that Newkirk knew about it.

They meant well, he understood that. They couldn't know how much harder they were making things for him. If he broke down now, they'd know, and he couldn't bear the thought of that.

With the timing of the sabotage mission pinned down, however, preparation became an urgent priority. Newkirk disappeared underground straight after roll-call, and started getting the SS uniforms ready for the supernumeraries, altering clothes from his existing stock. He surfaced for lunch, then vanished again, taking Mills along with him for a fitting.

Still, it wasn't until halfway through the afternoon that Carter managed to give LeBeau the slip, and then he only got away because Schultz came into the barracks and claimed the Frenchman's attention, wanting to renew the birthday cake discussion. Hogan was in the radio room talking to Kinch. Newkirk and Mills were out of the way, and everyone else in the barracks busy with their own concerns. It seemed the perfect chance.

Keeping an eye on LeBeau, Carter backed towards the door. He eased it open, glanced around quickly to make sure nobody was about, then slipped outside.

"Alright, Schultz," said LeBeau, a minute later. "Get me some butter - _real_ butter - and eggs, and sugar, and I will do what I can."

"_Danke_, LeBeau," Schultz sighed. "I would invite you to the party, but I do not think you would enjoy it. If I could get out of it myself, I would not be going."

"You would miss your daughter's birthday party?"

Schultz replied with sure and certain emphasis. "I would rather face a Panzer division than half a dozen eight-year old girls. If we sent them to the Eastern Front, the Russians would surrender in a day."

It was only when Schultz had left the barracks that LeBeau realized Carter was gone.

He was furious, both with Schultz and with himself. He'd allowed himself to be distracted for less than three minutes, but that was long enough for Carter to make himself scarce.

"Did anyone see which way he went?" he demanded, sweeping a scorching look around the barracks.

"He went outside, but I didn't see where he went once he left," said one of the other men uneasily.

The bunk over the tunnel entrance went up, and LeBeau swung round. If Hogan came up and found out Carter had gone missing , there was going to be trouble. But it was Newkirk who emerged, with Mills just behind him.

"Where's Carter?" The question came simultaneously from both of them.

LeBeau spread out his hands, and shook his head. "I was talking to Schultz," he said. "He went out of the barracks."

"Oh, well done, LeBeau. Colonel Hogan'll go berserk if we don't find him pronto," said Newkirk. Mills didn't speak, but he had tensed up.

"He can't be far away," said one of the others. "He's got to be in camp somewhere, right?

"Right. Let's be organized about this." Newkirk considered the problem briefly. "He wouldn't stay out of doors. It's brass monkey weather out there. So first things first - check if he's in any of the other barracks. Then try the motor pool, and maybe the recreation hall. Don't all go at once. Let's not set the goons wondering what's going on."

"Won't he just come back when he's ready?" came from another man. Newkirk and LeBeau looked at each other, but it was Mills who answered.

"Better find him," he said quietly, and there was something in his tone that put an end to all further argument.

Newkirk was right. Carter had not stayed in the open for long. The miserable weather was keeping almost everyone indoors, but he didn't want to risk being seen by the guards, or any of the prisoners who had braved the cold in search of air and exercise. Besides, he'd come outside without his jacket, so was feeling the icy sting of the wind. He needed to get somewhere sheltered from the elements as well as from detection. The recreation hall was off limits to the prisoners at this time of day, so he headed there, pretty sure he wouldn't be disturbed for a few minutes, at least. And a few minutes was all he needed.

He closed the door behind him, and leaned against it. He was near to exhaustion. For the last two nights he had cowered, wide awake, under his coarse blanket, too scared to fall asleep in case he found himself back in that nightmare, and gave himself away again. He didn't think he could take much more.

After a minute or so he straightened up. He couldn't keep still, he was too keyed up. Probably it wouldn't be more than three minutes before LeBeau or one of the others came looking for him, so he couldn't even let his guard down.

He stopped in the middle of the room, and closed his eyes, counting his own breathing so that he wouldn't think about anything else. The door opened behind him. So he was right, it didn't take them long to find him. Then it closed again.

"Well, look who's here."

Carter caught his breath so sharply that he nearly choked. Before he could turn around, someone grabbed him by the upper arms, drove him forward and threw him against the wall.

"Lieutenant Carter," said a voice in his ear, a voice he knew and hated. "Sorry, it's _Sergeant _Carter now, isn't it? So this is where you been hiding out - in a POW camp."

For a second, Carter was frozen with shock, then panic took over. He tried to push himself away from the wall, but Jackson shoved him back again, and pinned him there with a forearm pressed across his shoulders. He was a big man, and unusually strong, and he had the advantage.

"I've been wanting to talk to you, Carter," he said. "I ended up in a whole lot of trouble, just because you couldn't mind your own fucking business. It's time to pay up." His free arm slid around Carter's waist, and fumbled at the buckle on the waistband of his coverall.

A wave of nausea swept over Carter, rendering him almost paralyzed. Then he remembered that LeBeau would be looking for him. He couldn't let Louis walk into this. Desperation drove him to action, and with all the strength he could find, he drove the heel of his boot against Jackson's shin, just below the knee, where it would really hurt. Jackson swore, and fell back, and Carter twisted away from him, making for the door. His foot slipped, and before he could regain his balance, Jackson got ahead of him, blocking his escape.

"Okay, Carter, so you learned to put up a fight," he panted. "It won't do you any good."

Carter didn't waste any breath replying. There was nothing he could say that would make a difference, and he would need all his strength for what he already knew was going to be the fight of his life.


	10. Chapter 10

Kinch finished decoding the message from London, and looked up at Hogan who was waiting for the result. "Sorry, Colonel. Still nothing about the 182nd."

"What the hell is taking so long?" Hogan frowned, and pinched his bottom lip. Kinch watched him uneasily. He had no suggestions to offer.

"Should I stay on it, Colonel?" he asked.

"Yeah." Hogan glanced at his radio man. Kinch was looking troubled, his eyebrows drawn together. "Unless you have any better ideas, Kinch."

"I don't," replied Kinch. "But Carter's going to hit the roof if he finds out we've been asking questions about him, and things are bad enough already."

"I know. Hopefully he won't find out." Hogan sighed. "I hate this, Kinch. But we don't have a choice."

His concern for Carter's welfare was at war with another aspect of the situation. He was starting to worry that it might be necessary to cut Carter out of the operation. It was a step he didn't want to take. Carter was too good to be spared. Sure, he had his faults, but they'd never find anyone with the same level of expertise to replace him. But Hogan's first priority had to be the operation as a whole, and if Carter's state of mind was a danger to that, then some hard decisions had to be made.

It wasn't going to be easy. Hogan was afraid that if it became necessary to retire Carter from the team, it might tip him over the edge.

Kinch was watching him silently. Hogan met his anxious gaze, and sighed. But before he could say anything, Mills came scrambling down the ladder from the barracks, so fast he almost fell. "Colonel, you better come fast," he said breathlessly. "Recreation hall. It's Carter."

Hogan responded immediately. He almost flew up the ladder, with Mills and Kinch close behind him, raced out of the barracks and across the compound to the exercise hall. It was normally closed to the prisoners at this hour, but there were probably a dozen men in there, most of them from Barracks 2. LeBeau, standing at the back of the crowd, looked white and sick.

Schultz had got between Carter and Jackson, both of them being held back by other prisoners. They'd obviously been fighting. Jackson had come off relatively lightly, but Carter was in a mess, bleeding from a split lip and a cut over his left eye. In spite of that, he wasn't ready to give up, and Newkirk was having a hard time keeping him from resuming the fray.

"What the hell is going on?" demanded Hogan furiously.

Neither of them answered. Jackson looked sullen, while Carter shook off Newkirk's restraining hand and took a step back, swaying a little.

"Colonel Hogan, this is very bad," whispered Schultz. "If the Kommandant finds out..."

"Finds out what, Schultz?" The last voice anyone wanted to hear. Hogan closed his eyes.

Klink advanced into the middle of the crowd. He looked at Carter, then at Jackson. "What is the meaning of this? Hogan, I have already told you I will not overlook this kind of behavior."

"Colonel, I can explain," Hogan said, with no idea how to even begin.

"I'm very glad to hear it. You may do so in my office. In the meantime, Schultz, take both these men to the cooler. They'll have seven days to learn to get along."

"Kommandant, you can't put them in there together." Hogan had noticed Carter's reaction to that, the instinctive withdrawal and momentary look of revulsion.

"Actually, Hogan, that comes under the heading of things I can do," replied Klink smugly.

"Kommandant." It was Carter. "I started it. He...it wasn't him. It was me." He finished abruptly, as if speaking was too difficult for him. He kept his eyes fixed on the floor, and his breathing was short.

Klink regarded him with disquiet. It was hardly surprising. Carter wasn't a pretty sight. There was a tense silence while the Kommandant thought about it.

"Very well," he said at last, turning to Jackson. "You are restricted to your barracks for the next seven days. Carter, the same period in the cooler. Hogan, my office, if you please."

As the Kommandant stalked out, Hogan held back briefly, allowing Schultz to take an unsteady Carter out first. Carter's fury was fading, and he looked slightly dazed. He didn't look up as he stumbled out. Hogan glanced around at the other men, caught the look of ice-cold anger on Newkirk's face, and shook his head slightly. He was sure Newkirk had no idea what the problem was between Carter and Jackson, but that wouldn't stop him from taking up the battle on Carter's behalf. That could only make the situation worse.

For a few seconds, he thought Newkirk was going to defy his unspoken command, but then the Englishman's eyes dropped, and he flushed. Hogan squared his shoulders and set off after the Kommandant.

Klink didn't say a word until he was behind his desk. He remained standing, leaning with both hands on the desktop. "Well, Hogan? What do you have to say about this?"

For once Hogan couldn't come up with a clever riposte. Things were too serious, but he still needed to keep Klink in the dark. "Kommandant, until I've spoken to the men involved, I don't have anything I can say."

"I thought I made it perfectly clear to you yesterday that I would not tolerate any fighting among the prisoners. And today I find two of them brawling in the recreation hall, where they have no business to be at all. And one of them belongs to your barracks, Hogan. The man I spoke to yesterday belongs to the same barracks."

"He does? Well, there's a coincidence," said Hogan flatly.

"A coincidence." Klink took out his monocle, and polished it. "There are too many coincidences where Barracks 2 is concerned, Hogan. What I am wondering now is whether Carter had anything to do with Newkirk's black eye."

"Newkirk walked into a door."

"So he told me." Klink sat down, still polishing. "I suppose Carter will claim that he tripped and landed on Jackson's fist. Several times."

"Well, what can I say, Kommandant? You know how clumsy Carter is."

"I know you want me to think so. Well, perhaps it's time to find out how clumsy he is at another Stalag," said Klink. He put his monocle back, and regarded Hogan with a smirk.

"I don't think that will be necessary, sir," said Hogan, after a pause. "Let me talk to Carter. I'm sure he has a reasonable explanation."

"Oh, certainly, Hogan. So you can tell him what to say. I don't think so."

That was precisely what Hogan had in mind. He had absolutely no compunction about lying to Klink about it. "Kommandant, I wouldn't dream of trying anything that obvious, not when you'll be questioning him. A man like you, who understands the depths of the prisoner's mind, would never fall for it. I just want to make sure he's okay. You wouldn't want him collapsing in the cooler if there was something wrong, would you? What would the Red Cross have to say about it?"

Klink wavered at the mention of the Red Cross, but only a little. "Alright, Hogan. You can have five minutes, no more. And Hogan," he went on, "I will be speaking to Carter myself tomorrow. And if I do not get a satisfactory excuse from him, then you won't see him again. From now on, troublemakers get no second chances. Some other Kommandant can deal with them. Dismissed."

It was clear to Hogan that argument would gain nothing. Klink would have to be coaxed, convinced or bamboozled, if Carter was to remain at Stalag 13. But that was something to work on later. Right now, Hogan had only one concern.

The situation had escalated almost to crisis point. If it was to be salvaged, Hogan had to get Carter to talk.


	11. Chapter 11

Hogan returned to the barracks, where he was met by a dozen men all asking the same question: "What about Carter?"

"I don't know," he replied angrily. "Klink's given me five minutes with him. LeBeau, get the first aid kit from my office, and someone - Newkirk - find him some clean clothes."

He looked around the barracks. Mills was the only man hanging back. He looked distressed, but he didn't say anything.

LeBeau returned with the first-aid kit. "I'm sorry, _mon colonel_. I lost sight of him," he began.

"Not now, LeBeau." Hogan took the box from his hand, grabbed the bundle of clothes, including Carter's flight jacket, from Newkirk, and headed out again.

Schultz was on guard at the cooler. It must have been his own decision, he could easily have posted one of the other guards.

"He hasn't said a word," he said to Hogan. "He's just lying in there. Colonel Hogan, I am worried about him."

"We all are, Schultz. Klink said I could have five minutes."

Schultz glanced around, then whispered, "If you want to make it ten, nobody needs to know."

Although Hogan was feeling sick at heart, he couldn't help smiling at that. "Thanks, Schultz."

He stopped inside the cell door. Carter was curled up on the bed. His eyes were closed, but he wasn't asleep. Hogan brought the chair from the corner, and sat down next to him.

"Carter, can you sit up?" he said.

Carter didn't react at first, and then he sighed, and pushed himself up. He kept his face slightly turned away, and he had that shut-off look again. Hogan held back what he was going to say. He took the sponge from the first-aid kit to the washbasin, soaked it in water, then came back.

"I'm just going to clean that up, Carter," he said quietly. "It'll probably hurt a bit."

He could sense the tension in Carter's whole body, as he washed the drying blood from his face, and applied antiseptic to the worst of his facial injuries. He suspected there was further damage elsewhere, but because of what he was now sure had happened all that time ago, he wasn't going to be able to do anything about it.

He finished his work, and leaned back. "Carter, a couple of days ago, I asked you if there was anything you needed to tell me, and you said there wasn't." He paused, but Carter didn't answer. "It looks like you were mistaken. There is something, and I think I have an idea of what it is."

Carter lifted his head. "Colonel, please - " He couldn't finish the sentence.

Hogan gave him a moment, then continued. "Something happened, after you went back to England, and Jackson was involved. Am I right?" There was no response. "I don't know what effect it's likely to have on our operation, but I can see what it's doing to you. It's not good, Carter."

"I can handle it." The words were so quietly spoken that Hogan barely heard them.

"You're not handling it, Carter. That's the trouble." Hogan sighed. "Klink's raging mad about what happened this afternoon. He's talking of transferring you out. I don't want that to happen. The thing is, it's hard for me to decide what to do about it, because I don't have the full story. Any chance you can tell me?"

The only reply was a small, almost convulsive shake of the head.

"Is there someone else in the barracks who can explain?"

Carter didn't respond to that at all, but Hogan knew him well enough to take his silence as assent.

There was a rattle at the door as Schultz unlocked it. "Time's up."

Hogan didn't want to go, he was sure Carter shouldn't be left alone. But for now there was no way out of it. "Okay, Schultz. Carter..." He paused, glanced at Schultz, then leaned forward. "Hang in there," he said in a low voice. "That's an order."

Carter breathed out sharply, and for a second the blank expression wavered. Then he got it back under control, and nodded. Hogan lingered for a moment longer before he left. He could only hope Carter would be okay until he could get back there.

There was a tense silence in the barracks when he entered. It appeared Kinch had taken charge in his absence, he was leaning against the bunk nearest the door, arms folded, keeping an eye on things. He met Hogan's enquiring gaze with a brief nod.

"How's he doing, Colonel?" he asked.

Hogan couldn't give him a straight answer. For once there was something he couldn't share with his men, and he wasn't finding it easy. "Could have been worse," he said. "He seems to have held his own, anyway."

"Carter's tougher than he gets credit for," observed Kinch.

"Uh-huh." Hogan turned to the other men. "Right. Listen up," he said. "Klink's as mad as hell. He's thinking about shipping Carter off to another camp."

"Colonel, you can't let him do that." Newkirk jumped up, and took a step forward.

"I'm working on it. But in the meantime, let's not make things worse. I don't want anyone taking matters into their own hands as far as Jackson's concerned. Is that clear?"

They didn't like it, but there was a murmur of assent, and Hogan unconsciously breathed a sigh of relief. He turned back to Newkirk.

"How far on are you with the uniforms for the mission?" he asked.

"Still got a bit of work yet," replied Newkirk. There was a mutinous, dissatisfied look on his face. If anyone was going to cause trouble over this, it would be him. Unless it was LeBeau. The Frenchman hadn't said a word, but his sullen expression and smouldering eyes made his feelings clear.

"Then get on with it. I want them finished by tonight. LeBeau, you can give him a hand." That would keep the pair of them busy, anyway. As they headed off to the tunnel, Hogan turned to Mills. "The demolition packs are all ready?"

"Yes, Colonel," said Mills.

"Good." Hogan glanced around. "Go to my office, Mills. There's a few things I want to discuss with you. Kinch..."

"I know. Get on to London again."

"I wasn't going to say that," sighed Hogan. "What I want is for you to check on Hughes and Vincent, make sure they're ready to go for tomorrow night."

"Colonel..." Kinch hesitated, then went on in a low, hurried voice. "Are you sure you can get this straightened out?"

Hogan turned a sharp, searching look on him. There was a note of disquiet in his voice, and an expression of deep misgiving on his face. Kinch wasn't happy, and it suddenly occurred to Hogan that maybe he wasn't the only one drawing conclusions. But he wasn't ready to follow that up yet. He had to speak to Mills first.

"Go and see to Hughes and Vincent, Kinch," he said quietly, and followed Mills into the office.

He was pretty sure he didn't want to hear this story. But he was absolutely certain, now, that he had to.


	12. Chapter 12

Hogan closed the door, and stood with his back to it.

"How is he really?" asked Mills quietly.

"Not good," replied Hogan. "I've asked him again what the problem is, but he won't, or can't, talk about it. But I'm pretty sure you can."

Mills didn't look at him. "I've already told you, Colonel..."

"I know. You said there was nothing you could tell me. You never said you didn't know. Look, Mills, I wouldn't ask if I didn't have to. But I've got more than just Carter's feelings to take into account. I've got the welfare of every man in this camp, and the security of our whole operation."

Hogan paused, but Mills didn't answer him, so he went on. "I think I have an idea what happened."

Mills glanced up at him, then looked away again.

"If I'm right," Hogan said, after a moment, "then Jackson has to go, and fast. But I have to know the facts, before I can make a decision as to how far I'm prepared to go to bring it off. Carter understands that, and he knows I'm asking you to explain. I don't want to have to make him tell me."

Mills sighed, giving in to the inevitable. "It's not a pretty story, Colonel."

"Yeah, I worked that much out already."

"I don't think you can have any idea how bad it is," said Mills. He still kept his eyes averted. "It happened before I was assigned to the 182nd, so I only heard about it afterwards from the ground crew, and they had a real bad attitude towards the fliers. The two that told me about it were drunk at the time, as well. But I'm pretty sure I've got the basics right. It happened not long after you sent him home, the first time." He paused for a moment, apparently figuring out the best way to explain.

"You know how it is with air crews? They get pretty close-knit, like family, which is good when you're flying. You know you can depend on a guy when he's like a brother. But sometimes, on the ground, it's not so good. They stop being a family and start acting like a pack. They had a crew like that at the 182nd. Brilliant bomber crew, but off duty they were just animals. There were a couple of incidents with local girls. But..." He stopped again.

"Mills?" said Hogan. His feeling of unease was suddenly a lot stronger. He was starting to suspect the truth might be worse than he thought.

"I'm getting there. Seems there was a new kid on the ground crew, quiet young man, kept to himself. Didn't like girls so much."

Mills finally met Hogan's eyes, silently daring him to comment. Hogan didn't say a word, and after a moment Mills went on. "Anyway, Jackson and his crew had him worked out, and they gave him a hard time. And one night, some of them went too far. Decided if he liked it like that, well, he'd get it like that."

His voice dropped away, and he had to take a couple of breaths before he could continue. "Carter walked in on them. Well, you know Carter, he'd never stand for anything like that. There were five of the bastards, but he took them on. Never stood a chance, of course. The kid got away. Carter didn't."

Hogan exhaled sharply. It was worse than he'd guessed, after all. Much worse.

Mills went on, very quietly. "He was in hospital for a couple of weeks, and when he got out, he was transferred, with a reduction in rank. That air crew was broken up, and they were reassigned as well. They were all processed as requests for transfer. Guess the brass thought it'd make less talk that way."

"Wait a minute," said Hogan. "You're saying that's why Carter was demoted?"

"He was probably lucky. He broke Captain Lewis's nose. Must have put up some fight. Lewis was the senior officer. But Jackson was the really nasty one."

"And nobody was charged?"

"I was told Lewis had friends. They couldn't cover it up altogether, but they managed to blur the details, create confusion about what happened, and who was to blame. Anyway, Carter wouldn't talk." Mills took in the look on Hogan's face, and added, "You don't, sir, not with something like that. It doesn't do any good, and once people know about it...well, things get uncomfortable, that's all."

He fell silent, biting his lip. Then he cleared his throat, and went on. "So Carter faced a court martial for assaulting a senior officer, and the real culprits got off with just a transfer. They had to be moved out, anyway. Some of the ground crew knew what had happened. Paget - the young guy Carter saved - went for help. But by the time they found him, it was too late. From what was said to me, there were a few guys round the squadron who were ready to kill Lewis or any of his crew, if they got the chance. Both on Carter's account, and because of what Paget did afterwards."

"What was that?" said Hogan.

Mills shook his head. "Officially? Gun went off while he was cleaning it." He hesitated, then added, "Colonel, you won't let anyone else know about this, will you?"

"Not if I can help it," said Hogan curtly.

"With respect, sir, that's not good enough. Carter might come to terms with what happened - you never get over it, but sometimes you learn to live with it. But if he thinks everyone knows..." Mills stopped abruptly, and looked away again. Hogan just watched him silently, suddenly realising that there might be things in this man's history that he wasn't aware of.

"Mills..." he began, then stopped. He knew he didn't have the right to ask. But Mills seemed to understand the unspoken question.

"Okay, Colonel. I don't want to talk about it, either. Let's just say that sometimes for guys like me, college can get to be a pretty unfriendly place. So, yeah, I do understand Carter. And I can tell you right now, he handled it a whole lot better than I did."

Hogan was still trying to process the new information, and struggling with it. The full extent of the matter had left him in shock. "How did you come to be told about it?" he asked abruptly.

Mills was finally starting to relax. He looked weary, he'd obviously been under a strain. "It didn't take long after I got there before some of the ground crew had me figured out. Up till then they'd been pretty unfriendly - things were ugly between them and the flight crews. I thought things would get even worse - they usually do. But not there. Turned out some of the ground crew had got real protective of young Paget, and they started looking out for me as well. They thought I ought to be warned about the kind of guys who were out there, as if I didn't already know. The only thing they held back was Carter's name. And I'm sure they never talked about it to anyone else."

Not much comfort in that. Hogan put both hands on the desk, as if the weight on his shoulders was too heavy to bear any other way.

"Is he in any danger now?" he asked softly.

"From Jackson? We can handle that, sir," replied Mills. "We just have to watch him until we can get rid of him."

"That's not what I meant." Hogan's voice was steady. "Is he a danger to himself?"

"I don't think so. I asked him about it, a couple of days ago, and from what he said he's not thinking like that now. But if Klink does transfer him out, that might change."

"Klink's not transferring him," said Hogan with fierce resolution. "Not if I have any say in it."

But so far he had no idea how to prevent it.


	13. Chapter 13

Neither Newkirk nor LeBeau had said anything since they had been ordered off to work on the uniforms for the upcoming mission. It was LeBeau who finally broke the silence.

"What's the matter with Carter?" he asked in a low voice.

"Dunno." Newkirk spoke without looking up. "Don't need to know. If he doesn't want to say, he doesn't have to."

"I suppose not," said LeBeau uncertainly. "But..." He was quiet for a few breaths, then went on. "I thought we were his friends."

"We are. So we can't ask."

LeBeau had stopped working. "It just doesn't seem right," he murmured. "What can possibly be so bad that Carter can't tell us?"

"Could be anything. But it's his business." Newkirk glanced sideways at his comrade. "Everyone's got secrets, LeBeau. I've done things in the past that I'd never admit to, not to any man here. You can't tell me you don't have something that you'd do anything to keep to yourself."

"_Oui_," murmured LeBeau, after a moment. His face had gone scarlet. "But Carter..."

"I'm not saying he did anything wrong," Newkirk interrupted. "Maybe he messed up somehow, or maybe he's blaming himself for something that wasn't his fault. It doesn't matter. It's Carter. He's our mate. So we just keep trusting him, right?"

"Right." LeBeau answered resolutely, and with a sense of relief. Then, after a few moments, he added, "It feels wrong. If we are his friends, we should be looking out for him."

"Now, there's a funny thing, Louis," said Newkirk meditatively. "I don't remember saying we wouldn't."

He met LeBeau's eyes, and they both began to smile. From now on, though he didn't know it, Carter had backup.

Hogan, passing by, glanced in at them, and was relieved to see that they both appeared to have calmed down. The only thing he could imagine that could make the situation worse would be if either of them realized just what Jackson and his buddies had done, and decided to take him on themselves. Newkirk at least was capable of handling the man, but any further trouble among the prisoners was only going to stiffen Klink's determination where Carter was concerned. And Hogan was determined to keep Carter at Stalag 13.

_If he wants to stay_. The thought forced itself to his attention. It was possible that, with one of the men who had so hurt and humiliated him now in Stalag 13, Carter would prefer to be somewhere else. Hogan couldn't be sure one way or the other until he spoke to Carter again, and that couldn't happen till after lights out.

He was concerned about Mills, as well. For him to make such even such an oblique admission had taken guts, even though he was aware that Hogan already knew it, as in fact did every man in Barracks 2. The real shock had been the disclosure of his own past trauma. It was yet another matter Hogan had to keep to himself.

In spite of Mills' assurance, Hogan remained tense, unable to rid himself of his fears for Carter's safety. Almost as soon as the lights were out, he headed for the tunnel that led to the cooler.

Carter hadn't moved. He glanced up as the tunnel entrance opened, then looked away, and the expression on his face left Hogan without a word to say.

He went to the door and listened for any sound outside. Footsteps approached, slow and apathetic, then retreated again. The guard wouldn't be back for some time.

"I'm sorry, Colonel."

The words were halting and broken, and Hogan replied instantly, without stopping to think: "What for?"

There was a long silence before Carter replied, and Hogan could barely make out what he was saying.

"I just...I don't know what else I could have done. He was just a kid. They...I couldn't let them...I never thought..." His voice was so shaky that he couldn't control it any further. But Hogan recognized the same tone that he heard whenever Carter had to admit that he'd made some kind of foul-up.

"Carter, what makes you think you did anything wrong?" Hogan tried to speak as normally as possible. It took every ounce of self-control he had, but it seemed to have a calming effect, and Carter gained a measure of control.

"When I..." He stammered briefly, then took a deep breath and started again. "When I came round in the hospital, Major Staller came to see me - he was the CO's adjutant. The first thing he said was I was going to be court-martialled. He said it would be better for me to plead guilty, they'd take my record into account and I'd get off lightly. Then he told me..."

Once again he trailed off. Hogan waited, and after a lengthy pause, Carter went on, in a low, desperate voice.

"He told me there had been some stories, some of the other men were talking. And they'd looked into it, and it never happened."

"Oh, Carter," murmured Hogan.

"It never happened," repeated Carter. "And if I didn't want to get a name for being a troublemaker, or...well, I'd better just forget about it, that was all."

Hogan didn't speak. He'd managed to keep control of his anger every step so far, but he knew he was close to the edge, and it wouldn't take much to nudge him over. And this, on top of what he'd already learned, was close to being the final nudge.

He became aware that Carter, sensing his fury, had retreated into himself again. "I'm not angry with you, Carter. But there's a few other guys I'd like a word with."

"No, Colonel, you can't," Carter said desperately. "It's too late - please - everyone would know - "

"Take it easy, Carter," Hogan interrupted. "Nobody's doing anything without your say-so."

He let Carter calm down before he went on. "The first thing is to get Klink to change his mind about your transfer."

"Why would you want to, after all the trouble I caused?" Carter's voice was very low.

"You didn't cause it. None of this was your fault." Hogan paused, unsure of himself for once. But there was one thing he was sure he needed to say. "I'm not going to pretend I have any idea what you've been through. But I'll tell you one thing. I've never had more respect for any man under my command than I have for you right now."

For a few seconds he was afraid he'd said too much, as Carter started to shake, and covered his face. But he recovered almost immediately, blinking rapidly and uttering a barely coherent apology.

As soon as he had settled down, Hogan went on, in a fairly neutral tone. "I'm assuming that you don't want to be moved out. But that may be wishful thinking on my part, because we need you here. We could organize to send you back to England, if you want out."

Carter shook his head. "No." He was still shaky, and had to take a few deep breaths before he could continue. "Colonel, it's like...I can't explain, I'm not smart enough. But when I first got here..." His voice faltered and stopped for a few seconds, and when he resumed, it was barely a whisper. "It was bad. It was real bad. But then it got better. It was like...I felt safe."

"You should have been safe," replied Hogan grimly. "Okay. This is how we play it. From now on, until we get that son of a bitch out of here, you don't go anywhere on your own. I know, you fought him to a standstill today, but the fact is, he's bigger and stronger than you, Carter, and if he'd had more time..." He broke off, sensing Carter's distress.

After a pause, he went on, more calmly. "I think we can fix this. It'll take a bit of work, but I've got an idea that might convince Klink to let you stay, and put Jackson in his black books, as a start to getting rid of him. But it's going to take some sharp talking."

"You think you can talk him round, Colonel?" said Carter uncertainly.

"No, Carter." Hogan sighed. "He's not going to be moved by anything I can say. It's going to have to come from you."


	14. Chapter 14

It was not till the early hours of the morning that Hogan finally left the cooler.

Some time was required to coach Carter in what he would have to say to Klink. Normally he could be trusted to improvise, as long as he had the basics memorized. The tough part was always getting the details straight in his mind, and now was a bad time to ask it of him. But Hogan had kept it simple.

"Okay, Carter," he said at last. "You should try to get some sleep."

"Sure, Colonel."

There was something in Carter's voice that caught Hogan's ear. "What's the problem?" he asked.

Carter hesitated, then admitted, "I don't sleep so good right now."

"Bad dreams?" said Hogan, after a few seconds. Carter didn't reply.

"Carter, you need to sleep." Hogan spoke quietly but with authority.

"I know." But the look on Carter's face made it clear, he wasn't expecting to get any rest.

So Hogan stayed with him for longer than he had intended, and after a while Carter dozed off from sheer physical exhaustion. But it wasn't restful sleep, and Hogan's anger against Jackson and the others who had done this turned cold and implacable.

He knew exactly how he wanted to deal with them, or at least with the only one within reach, but that option wasn't available.

When at last he left Carter, he made his way to the radio room, where Kinch, in the absence of any other pressing duty, was monitoring the radio. "All okay with Hughes and Vincent?"

Kinch nodded. "They're ready to go on the word, Colonel."

"Good." Hogan paused, then said abruptly. "What tipped you off, Kinch?"

Kinch stared at him for a moment, with a startled expression. Then he looked away. "You know?"

"Got the full story last night. Well?"

"It wasn't exactly a tip-off, Colonel. When I spoke to the rest of Jackson's crew, there was something that just didn't seem right. It was Sharpe that spilled the beans. Turns out he had a friend at the 182nd, who wrote to him when Jackson was transferred, and told him to watch out, and why. Didn't name any other names, so Sharpe's got no idea that..." He trailed off. "I guess I should have told you, but I wasn't sure whether Carter was the man involved, and I knew if it was him, he'd never be able to look me in the face again if he thought I knew. I thought I should just try to forget I ever heard about it. But it's been worrying me. A lot."

"Yeah. Tough decision." That was the other side of the problem. The more people that were in on the secret, the harder it would be for Carter to cope. And some of the men might have a lot of trouble dealing with it, too. Hogan could imagine how Newkirk or LeBeau would react, and it sent him cold inside. "Can you keep it to yourself, Kinch? I don't mean just keeping it from the rest of the men, but making sure Carter never finds out that you know about it. "

"I think so, Colonel."

"Make sure of it, Kinch," said Hogan. "I think I have an idea for keeping Carter here, and getting rid of Jackson. But if Carter decides he wants to go, we have to let him, and he may want to leave if the story gets out."

Kinch didn't answer at once, as he thought his way all around the situation. Then he nodded. "Trust me, Colonel. He'll never know."

For Hogan, it was the greatest relief imaginable under the circumstances. To have one man, other than Mills, who he could consult freely would make all the difference in handling one of the most difficult and demanding problems he'd ever faced.

Kinch was still looking at him, clearly wanting to say something more.

"What is it, Kinch?" asked Hogan.

"The other guys on Jackson's crew - what are you doing about them? They seem pretty decent guys all round, but if any of them start putting two and two together..."

Hogan sighed. "They may have to go, as well. We'll work on that later. First things first."

The following morning, LeBeau went to sit outside the barracks while he prepared vegetables for lunch, a good cover for keeping watch. As he saw Schultz go across from the Kommandant's office to the cooler, he picked out the next potato from the basket at his feet, looked it over critically, then tossed it over his shoulder. It sailed in through the open window, and a startled "Ow!" issued forth.

"_Pardon_," he murmured, without much interest.

Responding to the agreed signal, Hogan emerged from the barracks at almost the same moment as Schultz brought Carter out of the cooler.

"You nailed Newkirk with that one," he observed, "Right on the back of the head."

LeBeau gave a soft chuckle. Then he sobered, as the morning sun reached Carter's face. "He looks terrible," he said softly.

Hogan didn't reply. He strolled across the compound and fell in behind Schultz, who didn't notice at first. But as the party reached the steps of the Kommandant's office, he stopped, suddenly aware of his company.

"Colonel Hogan, where are you going?" he asked apprehensively.

"Where are you going, Schultz?" returned Hogan in a bright, chipper tone.

"I am taking Carter to see the Kommandant."

"Right first time." Hogan beamed at him. "Now, let's not keep the Kommandant waiting. He's a busy man."

"Please, Colonel Hogan," pleaded Schultz. "He is very angry with Carter. I would rather he would not be angry with me. Otherwise there might be more than one transfer, and mine will be worse than Carter's."

"Don't be ridiculous, Schultz. Klink will be expecting me," Hogan pointed out. "I'm the senior POW officer, I'm responsible for Carter. If I don't show up, then he'll have to send for me, and that'll make him real mad. And you'll get the blame."

"Looks like you can't win either way, Schultz," added Carter. He was pale, and the damage inflicted on him the day before showed clearly, but he seemed calm and composed, and ready for the interview ahead.

Both of them gazed at Schultz, Hogan with a critical expression, Carter mildly sympathetic. Of course Schultz gave way almost immediately.

"Very well, Colonel Hogan. But if the Kommandant is angry, you must deal with it."

He trod firmly up the steps and opened the door, then stood aside to let them go into the outer office. "Wait here," he said, and proceeded into Klink's office.

"The prisoner Carter is here, _Herr Kommandant,_" he said.

"Send him in." Klink sounded disinterested, this was just another piece of routine business for him to deal with.

He looked up as Carter entered and stood at attention. Then his eyes turned towards Hogan, and he shook his head.

"How did I know that you would be here as well, Hogan?" he murmured.

"See, Schultz? I told you so," said Hogan smugly.


	15. Chapter 15

Klink turned his attention away from Hogan.

"Well, Carter?" he said.

"Quite well, thank you, sir. I hope you're feeling good this morning, too," replied Carter, and Hogan unconsciously breathed a sigh of relief. Carter was well in control.

Klink flushed, and leaned back in his chair. "You know that's not what I meant. What I want from you is an explanation for yesterday's outrageous breach of discipline."

"Actually, I'm interested in hearing that, too," added Hogan judiciously. "I must say, Carter, I was surprised at you." That was part of the agreed script, as was the slightly wounded look he received in reply.

"Well, I'm sorry, Colonel, but I'd rather not say." Carter turned his eyes away, and fidgeted uncomfortably. "You can't expect me to squeal on...uh-oh. Just forget I said that."

As anticipated, Klink leapt instantly onto the clue. "Carter, you're already in very serious trouble. Do you see these papers? They are to authorize your transfer to Stalag 15. All I have to do is sign them. Now, you don't want to leave your friends and go to another prison camp, do you? "

Carter's level of apparent discomfort increased.

"I don't want to be hard on you, Carter," the Kommandant went on. "If there's another man who should be taking a share of the blame - a new prisoner, perhaps, who doesn't yet understand the level of discipline here - you don't have to protect him."

"It's not that, Kommandant," said Carter. "It's just that, if you knew what he said..." He flushed, and bit his lip.

"And just what did Jackson say?" Klink adopted a less stern manner as he tried to gain Carter's confidence. "Come now, Carter, you can tell me."

"Now, hold on one minute," Hogan interrupted. "That's a different matter. You can't ask Carter to tell tales, Kommandant. It wouldn't be right. Carter, don't you say one more word."

"But, gee, Colonel, I don't want to be transferred," Carter broke out. "I mean, sure, it's pretty tough here, but at least we've got the most decent, fairest Kommandant around. I could end up somewhere a lot worse. And if Jackson hadn't said that about Colonel Klink..."

"Carter!" snapped Hogan. "I've already warned you."

Klink had already taken the bait. "Hogan, keep out of this. Otherwise I will go ahead and sign Carter's transfer without any further delay. Now, Carter," he went on encouragingly, "you've already given the game away. You might as well tell me what Jackson said."

"Well, Kommandant, he said a lot of things," Carter replied, glancing apologetically at Hogan. "For instance, he said you only wear that monocle because without it you look like a sheep with a nervous complaint. And that you cut your fingernails with your momma's embroidery scissors."

"What exactly is that supposed to mean?" asked Klink, completely baffled.

"I'm not real sure," said Carter. "But the way he said it, I just knew it wasn't nice."

Klink reddened, but managed to keep his cool. "And that's what yesterday was about, was it?"

"No, sir." Carter spoke quite emphatically. "Well, sure, I thought it was just plain rude. And it was insulting to all us prisoners. I mean, it's like saying they can put any old guy in charge of us. But I didn't get real mad till he said the only Heinkel you ever flew was a model one. There's only so much a guy can take. It just wasn't respectful, and you know how much respect I have for you, sir."

Hogan certainly knew exactly how much respect Carter had for the Kommandant, and looked away so Klink wouldn't see the laughter in his eyes. This was Carter at his best, so completely in character that it was difficult even for Hogan to tell that it was an act. Then Hogan sobered, as it suddenly occurred to him that maybe Carter had been putting on an act the whole time since his arrival here. He'd certainly had a lot to keep to himself.

Klink was completely taken in. He cleared his throat in embarrassment. "Under the circumstances," he said judiciously, "I think I might be able to reconsider your punishment. I had no idea you felt such a deep regard for me, Carter. Your sentence is rescinded, you can return to your barracks." After a pause he added, "Unfortunately I will also have to waive the rest of Jackson's penalty. But I will be watching him very closely from now on."

_So will I_, thought Hogan.

Carter took a deep breath as they got back out into the compound. "Oh, boy," he murmured.

"You did a good job," said Hogan. "But we're not out of the woods yet." He glanced at Carter. "What am I going to do with you now, Carter?"

Carter flushed. "What do you mean, Colonel? You mean, you can't use me for any more assignments? I already worked that out. I guess you just have to find someone else..."

"That's not what I meant," Hogan interrupted, although he had to admit to himself that it was a possibility. He ignored the thought, and went on. "I was with you last night, Carter, I know what it's like. You can't sleep in the barracks."

"I did before," said Carter, after a few moments. "It'll work out, Colonel. You don't have to worry about that. You got enough problems."

That was true, but it seemed somehow odd that Carter, in the midst of his own troubles, could find the time to be concerned for someone else.

They both watched in silence as Schultz went across to Barracks 8, probably to inform Jackson that his confinement to barracks was over.

"We'll deal with it, Carter," said Hogan quietly. "One way or another, we'll get him out of here."

"Sure, Colonel," murmured Carter. "I know that." Although he sounded subdued, his tension eased a little. He knew that Hogan could be trusted to come up with something.

A short while later, Sergeant Jackson, released from the barracks, strolled across the compound, the picture of self-assurance. He ignored the looks of hostility that surrounded him. Word had got around about the previous day's trouble. Apparently Carter had a lot of friends here.

Things weren't going to be comfortable, that was for sure. Another item to put down on Carter's account. Jackson was going to have one hell of a reckoning with that son of a bitch, as soon as the opportunity arose.

As Jackson rounded the corner of Barracks 6, someone grabbed the front of his jacket, spun him round and slammed him against the wall of the building, so hard that the timbers cracked. He found himself face-to-face with the English corporal, one of Carter's pals from Barracks 2 - Newkirk, that was the guy's name. He wasn't looking friendly. And even though Jackson was the bigger man, Newkirk had no difficulty keeping him in his place.

He didn't speak at first, just looked. Out of the corner of his eye, Jackson could see someone else standing at the corner of the building, keeping watch. A small man in a red beret, also from that barracks.

Newkirk finally broke the silence. "Stay away from him," he said. "You don't go near him. Are we clear about that?"

Jackson didn't reply. For the first time since his arrival, he realized the situation he was in. He could tell this man - both these men - were dangerous, and it scared him.

The Frenchman gave a low whistle, and Newkirk relaxed. "You want to watch out, Sarge," he said, in a chatty, overly friendly manner. "You could lose a button that way."

And he sauntered off. LeBeau, with one scornful look at Jackson, followed. Jackson stared after them, breathing hard.

This wasn't about Carter any more. This could turn out to be about his own survival.


	16. Chapter 16

With Carter's situation brought under control for the time being, Hogan switched his focus back to the mission at hand. That same afternoon he called the team into the barracks for a final briefing, bringing Vincent and Hughes up from the tunnel.

Carter, without being asked, went straight to the door to keep watch, leaving Mills to take his place in the circle round the table. Mills did so, diffidently and with an apologetic glance at Newkirk, who ignored it. Hogan didn't remark on it, but he knew he would have to speak to the Englishman before nightfall, to remind him that Mills wasn't to blame for Carter's omission. The assignment was challenging enough, without any added tension.

In the middle of the table, he spread out the site plan Vincent had brought with him. "This is the layout. We're going in the front gate, right here. Our cover is SS, checking that their security is up to standard. Hopefully it isn't," he added, with a grin, and a soft chuckle went round.

"LeBeau, you'll be with me, our job is to keep the commanding officer occupied. Hughes, you and Vincent will head for the production room, to get the information you need. Mills and Newkirk, you take care of setting the explosives around the fuel storage tanks. What sort of time limit are we working with?"

"Probably twenty minutes to lay the charges, Colonel," replied Mills tentatively, looking towards Carter for confirmation. "Once that's done, the timer for the first series of explosions can be set for up to half an hour."

"Can't you make it longer?" Vincent interrupted. "I may need more time."

Mills blinked, but it was Carter who replied. "The longer the delay, the harder it is to co-ordinate the second blast, which is the real big one. Mills has got it about right."

"There's also more risk of someone getting caught where they shouldn't be," Hogan added. "And we'll need most of that half-hour to get clear before the fireworks display. You'll just have to manage, Vincent."

He glanced around the table, but there were no more questions. "Lights out is at twenty-one hundred hours. We'll give it an hour before we leave, so twenty-two hundred. Kinch, do we have transport organized?"

"A truck from the motor pool, Colonel," said Kinch. "Newkirk will have to go over and get it. And this time the deposit's already paid," he added, glancing at Newkirk with a smile.

"Good. The rest of us will go out through the emergency tunnel. Newkirk, you'll meet us at the crossroads, half a mile from camp. From there we head directly towards Samberg. Allowing for road conditions, we should be there by midnight. We go in, do the job, and get out fast."

He turned back to Kinch. "Contact London, tell them we'll be sending Vincent and Hughes back by normal channels, unless they want to arrange a priority pick-up."

"Normal channels?" queried Hughes, with a gleam in his eye.

"The Underground will get you to the coast, where a submarine will pick you up."

"Never been on a sub before," remarked Hughes. He didn't seem worried, but Vincent didn't look happy at the prospect. He was biting his bottom lip, gazing at Hogan with a pinched, nervous look about him.

"That bloke Vincent's going to be trouble, Colonel," said Newkirk quietly, after Kinch had taken the visitors back down to the tunnel. "We'll have to watch him."

"Yeah, I know." Hogan glanced at the Englishman. "Are you going to be okay with Mills?" he added.

Newkirk reddened. "How d'you mean, sir? He's on the team for now, right? Of course I'm okay with him."

"You'd better be," Hogan said sternly. "It was Carter's idea to use him. And if he does well on this job..." He broke off. It was too soon - much too soon - to start considering a permanent replacement for Carter.

But Newkirk had picked up on the thought, and his chin went up. "Carter'll be back on deck for the next one, sir," he said. "You can be sure of that. Don't worry. I'll be polite."

"You'll be more than polite, Newkirk. You'll watch his back, the same as you would anyone else's. Is that clear?"

"Crystal clear, Colonel," replied Newkirk. "I'm surprised you thought you had to say it. I'll look out for him like he was my brother. After all, it's only a once-off, isn't it?"

Hogan left it at that, knowing Newkirk would do what was expected of him. He glanced around the barracks, noting that both Carter and Mills were absent. It was likely they'd gone into the tunnel, or rather, that Carter had gone, and Mills had followed him.

Descending after them, he met Kinch at the foot of the ladder. "Did Carter come down here?" he asked.

"He did. And Mills was half a minute behind him. Went towards the lab," said Kinch.

Hogan proceeded in the same direction. He glanced into the guest quarters, where Vincent was talking to Hughes in a low, urgent voice. Hughes didn't look as if he was listening.

Sure enough, Carter had headed for the lab. Hogan wondered briefly whether, if Mills hadn't been right behind him, Carter might have made for his refuge in the blind tunnel.

Mills was loitering just inside the entrance, and looked up as Hogan entered. Carter, engaged in rearranging his equipment, didn't seem to notice.

"Go up top and see if you can get some rest, Mills," said Hogan. "It's going to be a long night."

Mills nodded and left, and Hogan turned to watch Carter, who kept working as if nobody was there.

"You don't have to hang around, Colonel," he said eventually.

"I told you, Carter, I want someone with you at all times."

Carter gave a soft, impatient exclamation. "Even down here?"

"Even down here." Hogan didn't explain, but after a few seconds, Carter stopped what he was doing, and looked up with a troubled expression.

"What did Mills say to you?" he asked. Then, as Hogan still didn't speak, he went on. "Boy, some guys just don't know how to keep quiet, do they?"

"I asked him, Carter," Hogan interrupted. "You had me worried. And when you start setting things in order, I get even more worried."

Carter went on with his work, flushed with irritation.

"I just thought it'd be better. Someone else coming in might not know where I keep stuff," he muttered after a minute.

"Nobody else is coming in, Carter. This is your lab. Whatever happens, you're staying in charge down here." Hogan paused, watching Carter intently. "Was it as bad as that?" he asked.

"Only just after, for a while," said Carter jerkily. "And one other time." He paused, suddenly very still. "Mary Jane," he added, in a low, unsteady voice.*

Hogan remembered that. Carter's reaction on receiving a Dear John letter from his girl back home had seemed extreme at the time, so exaggerated it was almost comical. His desperation to be allowed to go home and see her suddenly made a lot more sense, and Hogan felt mortified that he'd overlooked it.

"You didn't tell her?" he asked, even though he knew it wasn't his business.

Carter shook his head. "Couldn't." He had stopped work again. "It was for the best, I guess," he said, after a few seconds. "I never could have...I thought at first, maybe she could tell something was different, maybe...anyway, it was all okay after I met Mady, even though that didn't last long." He looked at Hogan. "You don't have to worry about that, Colonel. I'm not going to do anything that dumb, not now."

Reassured by the sincerity of the reply, Hogan relaxed slightly. There was a moment of slightly awkward silence.

"We won't be back from Samberg much before dawn," said Hogan, changing the subject. "If you want to try to get some sleep in the spare bunk in my quarters..."

"The guys'd notice," observed Carter. "Better if I stay down here. They'd expect me to wait up for you."

Hogan wasn't quite satisfied with that, but he let it go. As things stood, there was no easy answer to that particular problem. He could only hope that once they got rid of Jackson, things would improve.

If they didn't, it would only be a matter of time before some of the other prisoners - or even the Krauts - started asking questions. The consequences could be devastating. For Carter, and possibly for the whole operation.

* * *

*Request Permission To Escape


	17. Chapter 17

Night lay over the compound, everything was deep in the quiet that followed lights out. But the tunnel below Barracks 2 was alive with movement, hushed voices and an atmosphere of tension.

Newkirk had just left to pick up the truck from the motor pool. The rest of the sabotage team were in the last stages of preparation.

Hogan gave the men a final once over, with particular attention to the new hands. Hughes looked ready for the task ahead, cool but on the alert. Mills was consulting with Carter, probably making sure of the procedure for laying the charges. Both of them were good men, Hogan had no real concerns about their abilities. Vincent, standing slightly apart, shifting from one foot to the other, was a different matter.

Kinch came down from the barracks, having seen Newkirk on his way. "Just about time, Colonel," he said.

Hogan looked at his watch, nodded, and raised his voice slightly. "Okay, men. It's now 21.56." LeBeau and Hughes immediately checked their own watches, Mills followed suit a moment later.

"LeBeau," Hogan went on, "you'll go out first, with Vincent. Then Mills - you know where to meet the truck? Good. Hughes, you and I will be last out. Stay quiet, and keep your eyes open. Remember, we still don't know who else is out there right now."

He sent one look round. "Are we all clear? Then let's move."

"Good luck, fellas," said Kinch. Carter didn't say anything, but he watched them disappear into the darkness of the emergency tunnel.

It took the mission team fifteen minutes to reach the rendezvous point. Newkirk was already there, leaning against the side of the army truck that had been requisitioned from the Stalag 13 motor pool.

"Not the best one they've ever supplied us with, Colonel," he remarked. "Nearly broke my fingers finding third gear. It's a bit slow, too, and I don't think the ride's going to be comfortable."

LeBeau was shining a flashlight into the canvas-covered interior of the vehicle. "It's not very clean," he remarked.

"Not my problem, LeBeau. All complaints to management - that'd be Klink," said Newkirk. "Just get in, and stop being so fussy."

LeBeau grimaced, but clambered up. Mills followed, and glanced at the untidy scatter of tools and rolled tarpaulin inside. "Should we throw out some of this stuff?" he asked.

"It'd take too long," replied Hogan. "Just leave it."

He got in beside Newkirk, leaving the others to settle on the wooden benches that ran along the sides of the truck. They soon worked out that he was right. It wasn't going to be a comfortable ride.

* * *

"Is it always like this, staying behind?" Carter asked.

It was almost half an hour since Hogan and the others had left, but this was the first time either of them had spoken.

"It's never easy," replied Kinch. He gave Carter a sideways look. "It's only for now, Andrew. You'll get back out there," he added.

"Sure," murmured Carter, looking down at his fingers.

"Look, why don't you go catch some shut-eye?" Kinch said. "If you don't want to go to the barracks, you can use the guest quarters down here. They won't be back for hours yet."

Carter glanced up at him, but Kinch's expression was perfectly innocent. He even looked a little bored.

"Maybe later," said Carter. He leaned against the edge of the table. Kinch, watching him out of the corner of his eye, noted with relief that he seemed less tense than he had earlier in the day. Hogan's response to the situation had at least reassured him a little. They still had to get rid of Jackson, but Kinch had no doubts on that score.

Carter seemed drowsy, and Kinch was about to renew his suggestion, when the sound of footsteps coming from one of the tunnels brought them both to full alertness. Kinch relaxed only slightly when he saw who it was.

"What's up, Lieutenant?" he asked.

Lieutenant Atherton was in charge of Barracks 12, where the senior officer of Jackson's crew had been assigned. Even if he had not been under orders to keep the tunnel's existence from Simms and his men, it was unusual for Atherton to come down here after lights out.

He came straight to the point. "I need to speak to Colonel Hogan. It's urgent."

"He's not here right now," said Kinch. "What's the problem?"

It was understood throughout Stalag 13 that in Hogan's absence, Kinch was effectively in charge of operations. Atherton didn't hesitate. "You know I've got that new chap Simms in my barracks? Well, just after lights out he came and told me one of the men that arrived with him has made a run for it. Fellow by the name of Jackson."

He was looking at Kinch as he spoke, so didn't notice Carter's sudden tension. "Apparently he discussed the plan with one of his crewmates, and that chap passed it on to Simms, who finally decided ten minutes ago that he should report the matter to me. Thing is, if Hogan's out on business, it's likely to cause problems if the Jerries notice Jackson's missing."

"No kidding." Kinch was furious. In one sense, this could be a solution to the problem of how to get rid of the man, but if he succeeded, it would spoil Klink's perfect record, and that could make things much more difficult in the future. But there was a more serious problem. Jackson couldn't have picked a worse time. If the escape was discovered, and the usual measures set in motion, it wouldn't be long before the Krauts realized that four men from Barracks 2 were missing as well.

"How did he get out?" Kinch didn't waste time. With Hogan unavailable, he knew he'd have to deal with this.

"That's the other thing," replied Atherton. "Simms' man told him Jackson planned to hide in one of the trucks in the motor pool. Stupid, really, because of course the guards check them all before they leave camp. The only ones that get out without that..."

"...are the ones we've borrowed," finished Kinch. "So he wouldn't get very far, unless he was on the truck Newkirk picked up tonight."

"Kinch," said Carter, very quietly.

"Okay, Carter. Atherton, you better get back to your barracks. On the way, you might have a word with Jackson's barracks chief, and find out why he hasn't been along to report the matter."

Atherton nodded, and left quickly.

Kinch stayed quiet for a moment, his whole attention focused on the crisis that had just developed. Hogan would certainly be able to handle Jackson, once his presence was discovered, but he had no spare men on the team to take charge of him once he was subdued. And if the man escaped detection, and emerged from hiding in the middle of the target site, the results could be disastrous.

"Kinch, we gotta do something." Carter's voice was low and desperate.

"I know. Give me a minute, Carter." Kinch bit his lower lip. "We'll have to send someone after them. Who have we got whose German will pass muster?"

They both fell silent, thinking through the capabilities of the available men. There was nobody who had both the language skills and the experience to successfully carry out an off-the-cuff assignment.

Well, there was one man. Only one. Kinch thought of it first, and rejected the idea. Carter got there a few seconds later.

"Kinch," he said, "I'll have to go."

"Not a chance, Carter," Kinch snapped back. "You're not fit for anything like that right now. We'll find someone else. There's two hundred men here, for Pete's sakes."

"Oh, yeah? Like who?" Carter put both hands on the table and leaned forward. "You know I'm the best man for the job."

Kinch was shaking his head, unwilling to concede but unable to come up with an alternative.

"Kinch, someone has to go. I know I haven't been much use for a couple of days," Carter went on. "But I can handle it. You can't treat me like a kid. If I can't be sent out to do my job, then what's the point of me being here?"

He was right, and Kinch, who would have given anything to be able to go himself, had to concede. "Okay. Go find yourself a uniform."

Fifteen minutes later, two figures slipped out of the barracks and made a cautious way towards the motor pool. Kinch unlocked the gate - they'd long since had a copy of the key - and pushed Carter inside.

"The motorbike," he whispered.

Carter, in the uniform of an SS corporal, nodded, and wheeled the cycle and sidecar towards the wire that ran around the compound. A few seconds' work with the wire cutters made a gap large enough to get out.

"Be careful," murmured Kinch. "Don't start the motor till you're on the main road."

He watched until Carter was out of sight, knowing he was right to let him go, and that Hogan would still give him one hell of a dressing down for it. Then he took a deep breath, and started reattaching the wires.


	18. Chapter 18

With a horrendous noise, a smell of overheated metal, and a sudden jerk which almost landed the four men in the back on top of the untidy heap of tarpaulins and rope behind the cabin, the truck pulled up at the gate to the compound surrounding the synthetic fuel laboratory.

Mills, clutching the duffle bag containing the explosive charges, just managed to remain upright. "Is it always like this?" he asked LeBeau, unconsciously echoing the question Carter had put to Kinch.

"_Ça dépend,_" replied LeBeau. "If I drive, it's better."

From outside they could hear Hogan addressing the sentry in a supercilious, slightly bored tone. Then, with a grinding sound from the gearbox and another jolt, the truck advanced through the gate.

"Stuff this for a lark," muttered Newkirk as he fought with the gear lever. "I'll have a few things to say to our mate in charge of the motor pool, when we get back. They'll be having fun in the back, Carter's lucky to be out of it."

Another rough stop brought the journey to an end. Hogan got out and looked around, getting his bearings.

"That's the target," he murmured to Newkirk, indicating a fenced-off area a short distance away. "The production setup is in the building behind - the main building, not the lean-to. Give me a couple of minutes with the officer in charge, then get started. And make sure everyone's back at the truck by - " He checked the time. "0030 hours."

"Got it, Colonel," said Newkirk.

He went to the back of the vehicle, taking up the stance of a man who had nothing to do while he waited for his superior officer to finish some routine business. LeBeau, dropping easily to the ground, went round smartly to stand at attention just behind the colonel.

Hogan turned around as the officer in charge, a Luftwaffe major, came from what must be his private quarters, hastily buttoning his jacket. The major pulled up abruptly, with a salute that made it clear how deeply asleep he had just been.

"_Herr Standartenführer,_" he stammered, "I had no idea - we were not advised..."

"Of course you weren't," replied Hogan cordially. "It wouldn't be a surprise inspection if we let you know in advance, would it, Major...?" He finished on a rising inflection, and gave the man a querying smile.

"Kehler, _mein Herr_."

Hogan raised an eyebrow at LeBeau. "Knows his own name, at least. That's a good start. Don't look so worried, Major. It's just a formality."

Major Kehler did not look as if he was reassured. "Will you come to my office, sir?" he murmured uncertainly.

"Of course." But Hogan seemed dissatisfied. He cast a look towards the gate.

"Is something wrong?" asked Kehler.

"Your perimeter seems a little undermanned," observed Hogan. "Two men on the gate, one on each tower, no patrols."

Kehler's face took on an unhealthy color. "I only have a certain number of men available. We have sentries guarding the main building in case any saboteurs should succeed in entering the compound..."

"My dear Major, once they've gotten inside, it's already too late," said Hogan, in a bland, disapproving manner that tested LeBeau's self-control to the limit. "I suggest you redistribute your resources immediately."

"_Jawohl, Herr Standartenführer._" Kehler gestured to one of the guards patrolling the fuel storage area, and issued a few hurried orders. The man looked surprised, but Kehler was insistent, and the guard signalled to two of his companions who followed him to the outer fence, leaving only one man on the inner enclosure.

_Nice one, Colonel_, thought Newkirk.

"Now, Kehler," said Hogan, with a return to geniality, "let's have a look at your records."

With LeBeau in attendance, he followed the major towards one of the other buildings, obviously the administrative office, while Newkirk moved towards the back of the truck.

"Okay, you heard the colonel," he said quietly. "We're all back here at half past, no later." He was watching the lone guard on the inner enclosure, and as the man paced out of sight, he nodded to Hughes. "Let's go."

If the gate was padlocked, they would have problems. But it wasn't. These guys had gotten too casual about their security, an inspection was well overdue. Newkirk indicated the production center with a jerk of the head, and Hughes and Vincent moved rapidly in that direction, while Mills, without hesitation, started work on the tanks.

None of them noticed the slight movement in the opening of the canvas covering the truck, where the man who had been hidden under the pile of tarpaulin was peering out with a baffled, suspicious air. Nor did they see him slide out of the truck, run towards the gate they had just passed through and take cover at the corner of the corrugated iron shed that stood against one side of the main building.

"Watch where you put your feet, Newkirk," said Mills, examining the first tank. "Looks like they had a spill."

Newkirk could smell the fuel that had soaked into the earth. "That likely to cause us any problems?"

"I don't think so. It'll burn off with the first blast."

In spite of himself, Newkirk was impressed. They'd used Mills as support for various operations in the past, but he'd never been part of a mission before. Yet he was as cool and collected as if he was on a Sunday school outing.

"I'll keep watch, unless you need help with that," murmured Newkirk. Mills nodded, but didn't look up, and Newkirk moved away to get a clear view of the fence line.

Mills was completely focused on his work. Behind him, still undetected, Jackson skulked in the shadows, his eyes moving from Mills to Newkirk as he tried to make sense of what was going on. He tensed, and crept towards Mills, then shrank back again, and disappeared into the shed, as Newkirk gave a sudden low hiss: "Guard's coming back."

With a rapid movement, Mills scooped up the bag with the remaining explosive charges, and darted towards the shed, with Newkirk close behind. Jackson had just enough time to dive behind a stack of empty drums, before the two of them got there and took cover, one on each side of the open doorway.

For almost a minute, there was no sound outside. Mills looked across at Newkirk, raising his eyebrows, and Newkirk turned cautiously to peer round the edge of the door frame. Then he pulled back, and shook his head. "Still there," he mouthed soundlessly.

They heard the guard cough, and clear his throat. A brief silence, then the sound of a match striking, and a few seconds later, the smell of cigarette smoke. Mills' eyes widened, and he stared at Newkirk, and jerked his chin towards where the fuel spill was. Newkirk cast up his eyes.

That Kraut was going to get them all blown sky high, if something wasn't done, fast. But what to do, without fouling up the mission, was a problem. Newkirk drew his pistol, and edged forward.

"_Hans, was machst du denn?_"

Newkirk froze. There were two of them out there now. This was getting complicated.

"_Bist du verrückt? Du darfst hier nicht_ _rauchen!_"

For the next few minutes, the eavesdroppers were treated to the sound of the errant sentry receiving what Newkirk mentally classified as a comprehensive bollocking. It was entertaining, but they could hardly spare the time. It was too dark inside the shed for Newkirk to check his watch, but he could see that Mills was growing impatient.

Finally the flow of language from outside was interrupted by the sound of a motorcycle engine from the outer compound. When that cut out, there was silence. Once again, Newkirk looked out.

"Okay, they've gone," he whispered. "Get on with it."

They had lost ten minutes. Mills didn't waste any more time, but got down to work with swift efficiency, and this time Newkirk helped out. Even so, they still exceeded the time allowance.

There was still no sign of Hughes and Vincent. They should have been back by now.

"Almost finished," murmured Mills.

"When you're done, get back to the truck and wait," said Newkirk. "I'll just go and chase out those other two." He disappeared into the main building.

Mills gave a slightly distracted grunt, and kept working. He put the final package in place, and took a few seconds to check the connections, then carefully set the timers for the first and the second detonations. A quick glance round to make sure all was in order, and he headed back towards the truck.

He never made it. As he passed the door of the lean-to, a length of rope was thrown around his neck, and drawn tight.

He jerked, and instinctively tried to pull away, but the movement constricted his airways even further. Frantically, he tried to get his fingers between skin and noose, as he felt his assailant dragging him away from the gate, towards the far end of the building. Just as he was about to black out, the tightness eased slightly, allowing him to take a harsh, gasping breath, though he was incapable of making a sound.

"Okay, pal," said a voice, very close to his left ear. "Suppose you tell me just what the fuck is going on here?"


	19. Chapter 19

Carter didn't waste any time on the road. He didn't think too much about what he was doing, knowing how close he was to losing his nerve. He'd already done too much of that. So he directed all his attention towards getting to Samberg as quickly as possible.

He was normally a steady driver, but right now he was taking some pretty extreme risks. It wasn't easy reaching that kind of speed while encumbered with a sidecar. But he knew he must not ease up. The others had a long lead on him, and he had to catch up before anything happened. Before Jackson screwed up the whole mission. Before someone got hurt.

As he got closer, he realized he was listening out for the first explosion, and his stomach started to knot up when he heard nothing. It should be real close now, unless something had gone wrong. And at that thought, somehow he managed to go even faster.

The target, with its broad exclusion zone, came into view, and Carter slowed, checking for any indications that the team had run into trouble. He could see the truck parked in the center of the compound, not far from the fuel storage tanks. There was no sign that anything was wrong.

_He could still be in there._

Carter shivered. For a couple of seconds, he hesitated. He didn't know if he could face this. But his comrades - his friends - were in there, unaware of the extra passenger who had come with them. He was scared enough to make him feel sick, but he had no choice. He had to go in.

He took a deep breath, straightened up, and headed for the gate.

To mask his nervousness, he adopted a terse, cold manner, as he asked for the SS colonel. The guards seemed edgy, and looked very closely at his documentation. It took an effort to keep his cool, but he managed it, and after a few tense moments, they opened the gate.

"Major Kehler's office," one of them told him. "Over there."

He couldn't bring himself to stop near the truck, in case Jackson was still there. Instead, he drove right up to the building the guard had indicated. It was a basic structure, less like the Kommandant's office back at Stalag 13, more like a hut. He knocked sharply on the door, and scarcely waited for a reply before going in.

Hogan, seated at the major's desk, looked up from the major's daybook. Only the slight elevation of his left eyebrow indicated his surprise, although LeBeau's astonishment showed for a brief instant.

"Well?" said Hogan curtly.

"Sir, I have an urgent message from General Kinchmeyer," replied Carter crisply.

Hogan didn't even blink. "Please excuse me for a moment, Kehler," he said calmly, without standing up. It took the major a few seconds to pick up the hint, and remove himself from the office. LeBeau immediately went to the door.

"All clear," he reported.

"Okay, Carter," said Hogan.

Carter's shoulders dropped, as he let all the breath out of his body. "Colonel, he's here."

"Who?"

"He hid on the truck. We found out after you left. He's here somewhere." Carter realized he was making no sense, and tried to focus. "Sorry, Colonel. It's...

"Jackson," Hogan interrupted. Carter nodded.

"_Pas possible_," LeBeau interjected. "We would have seen him. There was nowhere he could hide."

"Oh, yes there was," replied Hogan. "That stack of tarps." He considered the problem rapidly. "Okay, we haven't got much time. The other guys should be finishing up any minute. You two go out and check the truck. If he is there, do whatever it takes, short of shooting him. We can't risk the noise. I'll keep Kehler busy."

"And if he isn't there, _mon Colonel_?"

"Then you let Newkirk know. And you stay together, understood? You don't lose sight of each other for a second."

LeBeau nodded, looking slightly confused at Hogan's forcefulness, and glanced at Carter questioningly as they went out. Kehler went back into the office, and just before the door closed, Hogan said mildly, "Major Kehler, there seems to be some kind of discrepancy..."

As they walked towards the truck, Carter started feeling as if time was slowing down. The perimeter of the site was well lit, but the compound lay in semi-darkness. There was almost no sound, and a cold breeze touched his face, as it had one night, long ago, just before...

He stopped in his tracks.

"What's wrong?" whispered LeBeau. "You okay?"

"Sure." It didn't sound like his own voice.

"You want to wait here?"

"No." Carter jerked his head up. If he gave in now, he'd never be any use to anyone, ever. And LeBeau couldn't be left to tackle Jackson without help.

As LeBeau prepared to climb into the back of the truck, Carter grabbed his arm. "Let me go first," he whispered.

LeBeau glared at him. "Not a chance, Carter. You stay here and keep me covered."

He ran the beam of his flashlight across the interior. "_Merde alors_," he murmured. "They've been moved." The tarpaulins, which had been heaped at one end, were now scattered across half of the truck bed.

Carter glanced quickly from one side to the other, then dropped on one knee and checked under the truck. "Not here," he said breathlessly.

"Okay. Let's go find Newkirk - wait." LeBeau laid a hand on Carter's shoulder, as the guard on the inner compound paced back into sight. There wasn't time to do more than pull back into the shadow of the truck canopy, while they waited for the man to complete his beat and get out of the way.

The guy was obviously hacked off about something, and he took his time about it.

"Louis," murmured Carter, once the guard had withdrawn, "what if he's hanging round out here somewhere? If the colonel runs into him..."

"He'll be okay, Carter. Kehler will probably walk back to the truck with him." LeBeau jumped down to the ground. "We better go. The others should have been here by now."

He glanced towards the fuel storage area, and relaxed slightly, as Hughes came into view, moving cautiously towards the gate. Vincent and Newkirk were close behind.

"I guess Newkirk's watch is running slow," observed LeBeau sourly. "At least..." His voice trailed off, as it suddenly dawned on him that only three men were coming. Carter's fingers closed tightly on the tailgate of the truck.

"What about...?" His throat had suddenly become dry, and he couldn't get the words out. LeBeau, picking up the tone of his voice, turned.

"Carter, are you OK? Don't look like that. He's probably right behind them." But as he looked back towards the compound, the last member of the team was still nowhere to be seen.

* * *

It had taken some time for Newkirk to locate Vincent and Hughes in the main building. The fuel manufacturing setup was complicated, and the passageways between were narrow. If he hadn't heard Vincent's voice he might have been searching even longer.

Following the sound, he darted round a corner. They were there, Vincent still studying the machinery in front of him while Hughes expostulated in a low murmur.

"What's the hold-up?" Newkirk demanded in an angry whisper.

Hughes turned. "Vincent won't leave."

"I haven't finished," replied Vincent coolly.

"Oh, yes, you have," Newkirk shot back. He'd been right, after all. Vincent had turned out to be trouble. "Mills just finished setting the charges. If you don't get a move on..."

"You're getting a bit above yourself, _Corporal_," said Vincent. "It may have escaped your notice, but you're outranked here."

"Begging your pardon, sir," replied Newkirk, with deadly courtesy, "but you seem to have forgotten who's in charge of this operation. Colonel Hogan told us to be back at the truck at 0030 hours. It's past that now, and the clock's ticking. If you don't want to miss your ride home, I suggest you get out now. Hughes - "

He jerked his head towards the door, and Hughes took the hint and vanished. Newkirk waited, regarding Vincent expressionlessly. If the man refused to budge, he knew he might have to resort to extreme measures to get him out of there, and that could get him into trouble down the track.

But it didn't come to that. A few seconds elapsed, then Vincent, with an impatient mutter, pushed past him and headed for the outer compound. Newkirk followed.

There was no sign of Hogan at the truck, though LeBeau was there, talking urgently to - was it Mills? No, it was someone else.

"Carter...?" Newkirk hadn't expected to see him here. Then as he got closer, and read the anxious expression on Carter's face, a deep foreboding took possession of him.

As he spoke, so did Carter, and they both asked the same question:

"Where's Mills?"


	20. Chapter 20

As soon as Newkirk and Vincent had left the processing plant and gone out of sight, Jackson moved. Tightening the rope around Mills' throat, he dragged him inside and slammed him up against the nearest piece of machinery. Mills felt a surge of panic when he felt Jackson's hand running down his body, but his fear was unfounded. The man was just searching for weapons.

Unfortunately he found one. Mills was carrying a pistol.

"Right," said Jackson, pressing the gun against Mills' head. "I asked you a question. What's going on?"

"You're pretty slow, aren't you?" croaked Mills. "I already knew you weren't that bright, you proved that when..." He choked as Jackson twisted the rope again.

"Don't push your luck," muttered Jackson. "Mills, right? I know all about you, pal. Just give me an excuse, that's all." He loosened his grip, just enough for Mills to start breathing again.

It was a few seconds before Mills could speak. "Sabotage," he whispered. "This whole place is going up."

Jackson stared at him, his eyes widening. "How do you stop it?"

"Can't. Too late."

"Then how do I get out of here?"

"Try asking Colonel Hogan nicely," Mills spat back, earning himself another several seconds of strangulation.

"Not a joke," he got out as soon as he was able. "No other way out."

"Hogan'll leave me here to burn," said Jackson. "That's your doing, isn't it? You were at the 182nd, you're the one who squealed, right?"

Before Mills could reply, Jackson glanced towards the door, then grabbed his arm and hauled him further into the maze of equipment.

"One sound out of you," he muttered, "and whoever that is, he's dead."

* * *

"I told him to come back here." Newkirk gazed at Carter, his eyes demanding an explanation.

Carter shook his head, and rubbed his forehead, lost for words.

"Our friend Jackson is here somewhere," said LeBeau tersely. "He was hiding in the back of the truck."

It only needed a second for Newkirk to grasp what that meant. "Stay here, the lot of you," he snapped out, and headed back towards the enclosure.

LeBeau made a move to follow him, but for once Carter was quicker. "Hold it, LeBeau."

He was very pale, and the fading bruises on his face showed dark in the half-light. "You better get those guys back on the truck, and be ready to go. There's probably not much time left." And he turned and followed Newkirk.

"Carter!" hissed LeBeau from behind him, but he didn't look back. Someone had to stay with Vincent and Hughes. LeBeau flung up his hands, and went back to the truck.

Newkirk, not knowing he had company, stopped just inside the gate, his mind working quickly as he assessed the most likely hiding places. He moved silently towards the lean-to, but it was empty.

As he stepped back, he almost jumped out of his skin. "Carter! I told you to stay with LeBeau."

Carter shook his head. "Couldn't. If he's got Mills..." He stopped dead, pressing his lips together tightly to stop them from trembling. He knew he couldn't win a battle of wills against Newkirk, but he had to stick with him.

There wasn't time to argue. "Okay," muttered Newkirk. "But stay close, right?"

"Right." Carter took a deep breath. "How long have we got, Newkirk?"

"Only Mills knows. Maybe twenty minutes. We should have been out of here by now," growled Newkirk. "We give it five minutes, and then we head back."

Carter bit back his protest. He knew Newkirk was right. They couldn't risk the safety of the entire team for one man.

There were two possibilities. Jackson could have gone around the other side of the main building, risking detection by the Germans, or he could have gone inside the processing plant after Newkirk had left. "I know what I'd have done," said Newkirk softly, and headed for the plant entrance. Carter was just behind him.

Inside all was quiet. Newkirk advanced a few steps, and paused to listen. They couldn't hope to search this whole labyrinth in the short time available, the only chance of finding Jackson would be if he made some kind of sound. But there was nothing.

Newkirk glanced at Carter, and held up a hand, gesturing for him to stay where he was, before he moved quickly and silently forward, and disappeared from sight around a corner. For several seconds, Carter stayed still. Then he raised his head a little. Newkirk was the one taking all the risks. That wasn't right. Carter closed his eyes for a second, then opened them, braced himself, and followed.

He didn't take the first turning, as Newkirk had done. It seemed to him they'd cover more ground if they separated, so he went on further, and turned off at the second side aisle, parallel to the one Newkirk was in. It went only a short way before branching off in two directions. Carter paused, unsure.

This was hopeless. If Jackson was in here, they'd never find him.

Newkirk was having the same thoughts. Common sense told him to get himself and Carter out of there, but that meant abandoning Mills. He'd promised the Colonel he'd look out for Mills, and he'd failed. So he pressed on.

The layout of the production set-up was difficult to follow, especially given how little light there was, and Newkirk missed seeing the narrow space between two parts of the machinery. That was where Jackson had taken cover. He had drawn the rope tight around Mills' neck again, allowing him barely enough slack to keep breathing. He watched as Newkirk went past, and a gleam of malice crossed his face. If he couldn't get out of this mess, at least he'd take that smug Limey son of a bitch with him.

Keeping a tight hold on Mills with one arm, the rope gripped firmly in his hand, he edged out of his hiding place and took aim with the pistol he'd taken from his captive.

"Don't you dare," said a low voice from behind him.

He swung round, bringing Mills in front of him so as to shield himself. Astonishment held him immobile for a few seconds. That was one man he hadn't expected to see here.

"Back off, Carter," he said at last, pushing the pistol muzzle up against Mills' chin. "If you don't..."

Carter didn't even blink, and the gun in his hand didn't waver. "Let him go."

Jackson shook his head. "Not likely, pal."

He turned slightly. Newkirk had heard their voices, and came racing back. Jackson backed up a little, retreating to the little nook he'd been hiding in a few moments earlier. Now he had his back covered, while neither Carter nor Newkirk could take a shot at him unless they were prepared to risk hitting Mills.

They knew it, and both of them stopped moving, one either side of Jackson's retreat, making it harder for him to watch them both at once.

"Let him go," said Carter again.

Jackson shook his head. "You get me out of here, then maybe I'll let him go. Otherwise he goes up with me."

"Can't be done, sunshine," replied Newkirk crisply. "Only way out is in the truck, and I don't see you lasting the trip back to Stalag 13."

"Think again," snapped Jackson, giving the noose a jerk. Mills' head went back as he fought for air.

"Stop it, for God's sake, you'll kill him," said Newkirk. "Okay, we'll think of something. Carter, go and tell the colonel..."

"Carter stays right here. You're not bringing Hogan into this." But Jackson slackened the rope yet again, and Mills fell back against him, gasping. He was clearly in a bad way.

"He's already in it, mate. Look," Newkirk went on desperately, "you want out, right? Well, we want you out. Only this isn't the way to do it. Tell you what, we go back to camp, and then we'll get something organized. But you have to let Mills go, before we can negotiate"

"No," replied Jackson. "You get me back there, I know what'll happen. Not a chance."

Carter hadn't spoken for several seconds. He didn't often achieve the kind of intuitive leaps that the others managed so easily, but somehow the current crisis set off a rapid chain of thought that had already reached a conclusion.

"I got an idea," he said suddenly, and both Newkirk and Jackson turned to stare at him. "Mills, you set the timer for the second blast thirty seconds after the first, right?"

Mills nodded weakly, too far gone and in too much pain to speak.

"And everything was just like we worked out? Nothing different?"

It took an effort for Mills to reply, and he kept it short. "First fuel tank - must have had a leak." He glanced at Newkirk, who nodded.

"You said there was a spill," he said.

"They drained it. Empty. Didn't put the charge..." He broke off, coughing.

Carter nodded slowly. He could feel his stomach turning over, at the thought of what he was considering. It could work, especially with one less fuel tank to worry about. But there was only one way to pull it off, and he didn't think he had the nerve to do it.

"How long before the first one, Mills?" he asked. But Mills had shot his bolt, he couldn't answer.

"Andrew, what are you thinking?" said Newkirk. He stared at Carter with a dawning look of incredulous suspicion.

Carter didn't answer. His eyebrows drew in, as he fought the matter out with himself. Then he looked directly at the one man in the world he hated more than any other.

"You let Newkirk and Mills go," he said, "and I'll get you out of here."


	21. Chapter 21

"Carter, no!" Newkirk said very softly.

Carter didn't look at him. His eyes didn't move from Jackson, and the only hint of how scared he was at what he had just proposed was the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

"I don't think so," said Jackson, after a pause. "You're about the last man I'd trust, Carter."

"Then I guess we all go together," replied Carter. He glanced at Newkirk, and bit his lip. "Please. Let them go. I'll get you out of here, if you just let them go."

Jackson blinked, as the sweat from his forehead reached his eyes. He shifted his grip on Mills, who was showing signs of recovery. "Okay. Tell me how you're going to do it. If it sounds good, I'll think about it."

"There's going to be two explosions," said Carter quickly. "I reckon this building should stand the first, but not the second. If we get round behind the building - outside the fence - we should be okay when the first one goes off. That'll distract the guards, maybe enough so we can make a run for it. After the second blast, we'll be able to get away in the confusion."

There was silence for several seconds.

"Carter, have you gone completely round the bend?"

"Of all the cockamamie ideas, that takes the cake!"

The exclamations came simultaneously from Newkirk and Jackson. They broke off, glaring at each other.

"Well, if anyone's got a better idea, I'd like to hear it," said Carter. "Only you better think real fast, because somebody has to go and tell the colonel and the other guys to get out of here, before that first blast."

"You'll never get out, Carter," Newkirk persisted. "The fence is electrified. Even if you get past that, you've got fifty yards of open ground to get across, all of it covered by spotlights."

"The first blast should knock out the power," Carter shot back. "The generator's right in here. If the first one doesn't do it, the second will."

Another brief silence ensued. Once again, Newkirk was the first to speak. "All right, Carter. Perhaps you're right, it might work. But if you think I'm letting you... I'll stay. You take Mills back to the truck, and I'll take care of this." He shot a hostile look at Jackson.

For a few moments, Carter wavered. The idea of getting out of it, getting away from Jackson, nearly overwhelmed him. It would mean leaving Newkirk, but assuming the plan worked, surely Newkirk could deal with...

"No." The reply came out before he'd finished thinking, in a voice so steady that he was astonished at himself. "I made the demolition packs, I know how they'll work. It's my job."

"Okay." Jackson cut across Newkirk's attempt to argue the point. "Newkirk can leave. But I'm keeping this one, for insurance." He prodded at Mills with the pistol. "Anything goes wrong, he's done for."

"He'll slow us down," said Carter. "Better let him go."

"That's the deal, Carter. Take it or leave it."

"And what happens once you get out?" Newkirk growled. "Carter, as soon as he doesn't need you..."

"Oh, I'll still need him." Jackson's eyes turned to Carter. "I'll need help getting out of Germany. I know you got contacts. You take me to them, then once I'm well on the way... "

"It doesn't work like that," Newkirk cut in. "You need documents, money, clothes - "

Jackson shot a suspicious look at him. "I thought they'd supply all that."

"That's our part of the operation," said Newkirk. "All the Underground does is see you on your way."

"Newkirk." The interruption came in a hoarse, painful whisper from Mills. "What time is it?"

It brought the discussion to an immediate halt. Newkirk stared at him for a moment, then looked quickly at his watch. "Eight minutes to one," he replied curtly. "How long...?"

"Twelve minutes."

"Shit!" muttered Jackson.

For a bare few seconds, his eyes met Newkirk's in a shared moment of consternation.

"Newkirk, there's no time," Carter spoke very low. "There's four men out there. LeBeau and Colonel Hogan are out there. Someone's got to make sure they get clear."

Newkirk paused, thinking quickly. "Right. We'll do it your way, Carter. But you're going to have to talk to the colonel, about getting this toe-rag everything he needs." The contempt in his voice cut like a razor blade.

"Tell Hogan to wait for us somewhere on the road," said Jackson. "Alone."

"I don't think so, Jackson," began Newkirk, but he changed tack abruptly, as Mills stiffened again, choking. "Alright, alright, no need for that. I'll pass on your message. But if you hurt either of them..."

"I can wait," murmured Jackson, glancing at Carter again.

Newkirk's whole face seemed to tighten. "If I were you, chum - and thank God I'm not - I'd watch myself. Because if anything happens - "

"Newkirk, just get going," Carter broke in suddenly. "For crying out loud, why do you always have to argue about everything? I can handle this. Get out of here."

He still hadn't taken his eyes off Jackson, nor lowered his gun. Newkirk stood immobile for a few heartbeats, then with an incoherent, almost inaudible mutter of frustration, he swung round and headed for the door.

Although he knew he couldn't afford to lose any more time, he would have given anything to be able to delay his return to the truck. He could hardly believe he was doing this, walking away and leaving Carter behind.

LeBeau was pacing back and forth beside the truck, and as Newkirk reached the gate, he saw Hogan, accompanied by Major Kehler, coming back from the major's office. The colonel's bearing was a perfect demonstration of bored civility, but Newkirk didn't make the mistake of thinking Hogan wasn't fully alert.

He slipped through the gate and made his way quickly across to LeBeau.

"Where are they?" whispered the Frenchman out of the corner of his mouth. Newkirk just shook his head. It was bad enough that he was going to have to tell Hogan, let alone having to break it to LeBeau.

"Thank you for your time, Major," Hogan was saying as he came within earshot. "You will receive a full report in due course. In triplicate."

"Thank you, _Herr Standartenführer_," stammered Kehler.

Hogan glanced at Newkirk and LeBeau. His expression didn't change, but as he moved in closer, Newkirk recognized the gleam in his eyes.

"_Alles in Ordnung?_" he asked softly.

"Not much _Ordnung_ about it, sir," replied Newkirk. He glanced sideways at Kehler, standing just out of earshot, before he went on. "He's got Mills and Carter in there."

Beside him, he felt LeBeau twitch. "And you left them?"

"Didn't have a choice. He's got Mills at gunpoint, he's half-throttled him already. Carter says he can get them out. Colonel, we've got..." He checked his watch again, surreptitiously: "...eight minutes."

"Can he do it?" murmured Hogan.

"I think so. He told us how, but he wouldn't let me..." Newkirk broke off.

"What about Hughes and Vincent?"

"They're in the truck," replied LeBeau. He had only looked at Newkirk for a second, but the look in his eyes made it clear, there would be more said when time allowed.

"It was Vincent slowed us down," Newkirk added. "If I hadn't had to go looking for him, I wouldn't have had to leave Mills, and..."

"Okay," interrupted Hogan. Then, after a pause: "Okay. We're going to have to run with it. Anyone else tries to stay behind, the Krauts get suspicious, the mission's screwed and nobody gets out." His eyes were dark with anger, and Newkirk looked away. "LeBeau, you take the motorcycle," Hogan went on. "Newkirk, the truck. You can tell me the rest later."

LeBeau, after a last furious glance at Newkirk, turned on his heel and stomped off towards the cycle and sidecar.

"I'm sorry, Colonel," murmured Newkirk, as he got behind the wheel of the truck. "I let you down on this one."

"Later, Newkirk," replied Hogan tersely. "Just drive."

Newkirk pressed the starter. The motor coughed, turned over, but didn't fire. He tried again, with the same result.

"Oh, brilliant. Wait till I see that motor pool sergeant," Newkirk muttered. He pulled the choke fully out, pumped the accelerator, and tried a third time. For a moment, it seemed likely to fail again, but then with a grumbling rattle the motor caught. He didn't give it time to change its mind, but put it straight into gear, with a grunt as the gearstick resisted yet again

It was crazy, he knew, but for just a moment, Hogan had half-hoped the motor wouldn't start. It would have given him an excuse. The rational part of him knew this was the way it had to be, but right now the rational part was the smallest voice in his head. The only one he wanted to listen to, and the one he had to ignore, was the one telling him to go back, take care of Jackson as he'd wanted to from the start, and get Carter and Mills out of there.

Right now he couldn't see any way for this to end well.


	22. Chapter 22

Eight minutes to go.

"You better put the gun down, Carter," said Jackson.

Carter shook his head slightly. "I might need it. If the Krauts spot us, we might have to shoot our way out."

"And how likely is that?"

There was a tense moment of silence as Carter considered. "We'll go out at minus two minutes," he said at last. "It's pretty dark round here, so we might be lucky. But if they turn the spotlights this way, we're in big trouble."

"Then we better wait," said Jackson. "What's it take, maybe thirty seconds to get round the building?"

"If the guard isn't hanging round. But you don't want to leave it that late."

Jackson stared at him, doubt and suspicion clear on his face. "What d'you mean?"

"The timers we use aren't always that accurate," said Carter.

"Could go off early," put in Mills faintly. "That'd solve everyone's problems."

"Or it could go late," Carter went on. "Maybe not at all. And then we get shot. Or arrested...and _then _shot."

"Not too late to change your mind, Jackson," Mills concluded. But then from outside they heard the tortured sound of the truck's motor kicking over.

Jackson uttered a low-pitched curse. He was sweating quite a lot now, and Carter and Mills exchanged glances. If they got him sufficiently off-balance, they might have a chance of escape. On the other hand, he could turn even nastier than he had so far. It was a risk, and not exactly one that could be calculated.

Six minutes.

With LeBeau close behind, the truck cleared the main gate, and set off at a sedate pace along the road.

"Can we go any faster, Newkirk?" demanded Hogan.

"This is all she's got, sir."

Hogan leaned out, and signalled to LeBeau to go in front, and the motorcycle roared past.

Four minutes.

Carter took a deep breath, nerving himself up to the next stage of the plan. "We better get closer to the door. Once we're there, keep quiet, and don't move till I do."

He tried not to tense up as Jackson moved, keeping Mills between himself and Carter. Mills was looking pretty sick, even in the dim light available. If he collapsed now, the whole scheme was going to fall apart.

Three minutes.

"Generator's buggered, too, from the look of it," said Newkirk, as the headlights flickered and dimmed. He was only talking to break the silence. Hogan didn't reply.

The lorry slowed as it reached an ascending incline. Newkirk, cursing fluently under his breath, changed gear again. "She'll never do it," he muttered.

"She'll do it," said Hogan. His voice was even, but every muscle in his body was tense. In the back, Hughes and Vincent remained silent, hanging on to the framework as the vehicle juddered its way up the slope. Up ahead, LeBeau had almost reached the crest.

Two minutes.

The guard was nowhere in sight. Carter edged out the door, keeping close to the wall, and led the way to the enclosure gate. He shivered a little as the cold air reached him. Jackson, just behind, was still keeping Mills short of breath. It wasn't like he needed to, Mills didn't want to attract attention any more than he did. That was just how Jackson worked, apparently.

They slipped out into the main compound, and stole around to the back of the building. There was no cover along this wall, and Carter, glancing up at the spotlight tower, didn't care to estimate their chances of avoiding discovery.

He motioned Jackson down, and crouched against the wall, counting seconds.

One minute.

A flash of light appeared behind the truck, and a low concussive roar drowned out Vincent's cry of astonishment. Then they cleared the top of the rise. Newkirk slammed on the brakes, and the truck skidded onto the gravel shoulder.

"Thirty seconds to the next one," he said.

Hogan was already out of the cabin, and racing back to the high point. Newkirk followed, and LeBeau, abandoning the cycle, was just behind them.

Although the wide exclusion zone gave them clear line of sight, it was too dark to make out what was happening. Carter had been right about the generator, the spotlights along the perimeter were out of commission, and the only light was the flicker of orange and yellow that silhouetted the processing plant.

Then a huge fireball rolled up and over. The associated sound wave hit like a solid mass. Newkirk fell back slightly, but his eyes stayed fixed, searching for any sign that Carter had made it.

Beside him, Hogan remained silent, watching with equal intentness. LeBeau was speaking quietly, the same words, in French, over and over.

It was no good. Too much flame, too much smoke, too much confusion. It was impossible to make out any details.

"Okay, Newkirk." Hogan's voice was cold and sharp. "Start talking. I want every detail."

* * *

The first blast had gone off twenty seconds early. Carter had been braced for it, he'd hoped perhaps it would take Jackson by surprise. No such luck. As Carter turned, Jackson was already upright, hauling Mills with him. "Which way?" he demanded tersely.

Carter looked toward the fence. As he'd hoped, the generator had been knocked out by the explosion, and the spotlights were dead. "That way, towards the gate," he replied. "Run!"

He raced towards the guardhouse, which stood just inside the gate. As he rounded the corner, he stopped abruptly. Two German guards were still there, outside the sentry box, seemingly unable to decide how to react to the crisis. Both of them turned as Carter came into sight, but they appeared confused by his SS uniform. Before either of them could recover, a pistol shot sounded from behind Carter, and one of them dropped. The other gave a shout, and lifted his rifle, but too late. A second bullet took him out as well.

Apparently Jackson was a good shot.

There was no time to make a break for the gate, and no shelter beyond anyway. "Get down!" Carter hissed. Jackson flung himself and Mills against the wall of the guardhouse. Carter's only conscious thought was to keep Mills from getting hurt. He dropped beside Jackson, so that Mills was shielded between them.

Three seconds later, hell erupted on the other side of the building. Carter closed his eyes, and huddled closer to Mills. He wasn't sure how much protection this building would give them. It was timber, it might give way.

The wall beside them shook, cracked outward, but held. For a few seconds longer the three men remained where they were, before Carter raised his head and opened his eyes.

"Now we run for it, right?" said Jackson. He was visibly scared, but so far holding his nerve.

"Yeah. If it's clear at the gate," replied Carter, moving away instinctively.

He turned to check, but Jackson's voice stopped him. "Hold it, Carter. You can leave the gun behind. You won't need it any more."

He had raised his own pistol towards Carter's face, and there was a look of determination in his eye. Carter looked back at him silently for a few moments, then slowly laid his own weapon on the ground.

"We'll have to get through the clearance zone pretty fast," he said. "Once we reach the trees, it should be safe. Mills, you okay for this?"

Mills nodded. "I'll make it." He didn't sound good.

Once again, Carter went ahead, keeping watch for any more sentries, but it looked like the only ones who hadn't gone to deal with the emergency were the two Jackson had just shot. It took only seconds to reach the gate, pull it open and slip outside, and a few minutes brought them to the boundary of the exclusion zone.

"We better keep close to the trees, in case of traffic," said Carter. He was starting to feel slightly dizzy, now the immediate crisis was over. He knew he'd been running on nothing but adrenaline for the past half-hour. But he couldn't afford to relax yet.

"Okay. But you stay in front, so I can see you," replied Jackson. "And don't even think about losing yourself in the woods. If you try anything, Mills is going to know about it, get it?"

Carter got it. He nodded wearily, and set off, keeping parallel to the road.

They kept going in silence for some time.

"Okay. Stop there, Carter."

Carter, still walking a few steps ahead as ordered, came to a standstill.

"Turn around," said Jackson. Carter obeyed, slowly. He had a feeling he knew what was coming. Jackson didn't need two hostages.

For a few seconds they stared at each other, before Jackson spoke. "Sorry, Carter. Nothing personal. But Mills isn't so likely to give me any trouble." And he took aim.

He was keeping the rope around Mills' throat pretty tight, but not so much that Mills couldn't speak. "Wanna bet?" he rasped out.

Risking complete strangulation by the move, he flung his entire body weight to the right. Jackson staggered, and pulled the trigger, but Carter had already dived in the other direction, and the impact had thrown Jackson's aim away from him. The shot went wide, and the gun slipped from Jackson's hand.

Carter rolled over and scrambled to his feet, in time to see Jackson yank Mills upright, and punch him viciously in the stomach. Mills buckled and dropped, and Jackson stooped to grab the pistol. As Carter shot forward to stop him, Jackson dodged back, grabbed his arm and twisted it behind him, so far that Carter almost felt the bone cracking. He struggled briefly, then became still, as he realized the gun was now aimed at Mills.

"Okay, so I was wrong," Jackson muttered. "Looks like you get a reprieve, Carter. But your buddy there..."

"You don't want to do that," Carter choked out. His heart was going so fast he thought it might give out any second. "Please. You don't get anything from killing him."

"Just a bit of personal satisfaction," replied Jackson. "Seeing he's the one that ratted me out to the rest of the prisoners."

"No." Mills was breathing in shallow gasps. "I only told Colonel Hogan. Nobody else."

"So who spilled it to Newkirk then?"

Carter stopped breathing. He couldn't have moved if he wanted to. His eyes, wide with shock and disbelief, were on Mills.

"Newkirk doesn't know," panted Mills.

"Oh, yes, he does," Jackson growled. "Why else would he have warned me off?"

"Carter, I never said anything," Mills ignored Jackson, and directed his answer to Carter. But Carter wasn't listening. He couldn't take in what was being said. The possibility that any of the other men might know - that _Newkirk_ knew - was more than he could deal with.

For a few seconds, his entire world seemed ready to collapse around him. And then another voice broke through. The one voice he knew he could trust, no matter what.

"Newkirk doesn't know anything about it."

Carter's vision cleared. He blinked, and looked past Mills, and met Colonel Hogan's eyes.

Hogan gave him one keen look, before he spoke again.

"If Newkirk knew what you'd done, Jackson," he said, coolly and distinctly, "you'd already be dead."


	23. Chapter 23

Hogan hadn't come alone. That was never going to happen, Newkirk or LeBeau would have disobeyed orders without a moment's hesitation to make sure he had cover.

"The man's a complete twister, Colonel, you can't trust him," Newkirk said urgently, when the prospect was raised.

"You're so right, Newkirk." Hogan kept his eyes on the raging blaze below. "But he won't try anything this time. He needs my help."

Both his men began to protest, but he cut them off. "Look, I don't like it any more than you do. But Jackson's likely to do anything if he thinks we're trying to pull one over on him."

"He may anyway, _mon colonel_," LeBeau put in. "What if he decides he doesn't need both of them?"

Hogan continued to watch the fire in the compound below. He didn't have an answer to that.

After a pause, Newkirk spoke up. "How about this, sir? You meet Jackson as arranged, I'll be hiding in the bushes. If he tries anything, or if I get a chance..." He didn't finish the sentence.

Hogan considered, then shook his head. "You're a good shot, Newkirk. But I'm not sure you're good enough. You said he was keeping Mills pretty close."

He was right, and Newkirk looked away, biting his lower lip. There was silence for several seconds.

"If it's any help, sir," said Hughes from behind them, "I've done sniper training."

It was a compromise Hogan had to accept. And less than an hour later, he was glad he'd agreed to it. LeBeau had been right. At least with Hughes along, making his way silently through the trees to Hogan's right, there was some chance of preventing any further attempt by Jackson to get rid of unwanted complications.

Hogan, having drawn Jackson's attention, met his furious glare with icy contempt, then glanced at Mills.

"You okay?" he asked.

Mills nodded, panting. "Fine, colonel." He wasn't, but Hogan let it go.

"Carter?"

Carter blinked, but didn't reply. The muzzle of the gun was now pressed hard against the soft skin beneath his chin, and Jackson still had his arm so firmly twisted behind him that he could barely move.

Hogan switched his gaze back to Jackson.

"You shouldn't take Newkirk so seriously," he remarked. "He just doesn't like vermin. It's a Londoner thing, something about growing up knowing you're never very far from the nearest rat."

"Funny. Real funny." The look on Jackson's face didn't agree with his words.

"Oh, if you liked that one, you'll love this," Hogan went on. "If you'd come to me and asked to be shipped out, I'd have moved heaven and earth to pull it off. I've been trying to figure out a way to get rid of you since the day after you got here."

"Is that right?" murmured Jackson.

"Don't get me wrong. It's entirely professional. Guys like you are bad for morale, and bad for business." Hogan moved a little to the side, trying to assess whether Hughes might get a clear shot in. He didn't like the chances, not without risk to Carter. It was going to have to be negotiation.

"Bad for business - you mean the nice little set-up you got under the camp? Yeah, I know about that." Jackson smiled slightly, aware of the sudden increase in tension. "Tried to get out that way a couple of nights ago, but it was too damn busy in the woods."

"You found the tunnels," said Hogan quietly. This was a whole new complication. The night of the first reconnaissance excursion, he'd heard someone moving through the trees near the emergency tunnel entrance. That mystery had just been cleared up.

"Wasn't that hard. I keep my eyes open. There's a whole lot of stuff I could tell the Krauts, if I wanted to."

_That was a mistake, pal_, thought Hogan.

"Okay. You made your point," he said. "Now suppose you ease up on Carter, and maybe we can work out how to resolve this so everyone's happy. You want a clear run out of Germany. I want my men back, safe and unharmed. I'm sure we can come to an arrangement with a bit of planning, but I have to think about it. And I think better when I'm not thinking about other things - like expecting one of my men to get shot any second."

Jackson's eyes narrowed as he considered the request. "Okay. But you tell your backup man, wherever he is, to hold off."

A few seconds of silence followed. "Hughes," said Hogan, "if he makes any move against Mills, take him out. Otherwise, hold off."

Jackson must have accepted the amendment, because Carter relaxed slightly, breathing more easily as the pressure eased on his arm.

"See? That wasn't so hard, was it?" Hogan kept his eyes on Jackson. "Now we're getting somewhere." He pursed his lips briefly, as if in thought. "You want to get back to England, right?"

"Wrong," said Jackson tersely. "You think I don't know the kind of report you or your guys'll have sent them by the time I get there? Forget it. Get me to Switzerland."

"Tricky," murmured Hogan. "See, our whole set-up is geared in the other direction. All our contacts, transportation, everything leads across the Channel. We don't have an escape route to Switzerland. And the Swiss government doesn't exactly welcome escaping POWs with open arms. So it's not going to be easy."

"Well, you better figure something out, or it's no dice."

"Okay. We'll see what we can do. But you're going to have to come to the party as well. How about as a gesture of good faith, you let Mills and Carter go?"

Jackson gave a short, angry laugh. "No chance."

"I'm not saying you leave yourself without bargaining power," Hogan went on. "You let them go, I'll stay."

A muffled protest broke from Mills. Carter didn't speak, but he shook his head slightly, gazing at Hogan in shock.

"No," said Jackson, after a moment of thought. "You said yourself, it's not going to be easy. You're the man in charge, they'll need you to pull it off."

"Kinch can handle it."

"Colonel, don't." Carter's voice came out in a bare whisper. "He's right. There's stuff Kinch can't decide on."

His eyes met Hogan's. They both knew what those decisions were. Jackson knew too much about the operation. It wasn't just about getting him out of Stalag 13 any more, it was about keeping him from talking. It was a responsibility only Hogan could accept.

"I can stay, Colonel," said Mills weakly, trying to push himself up, then sinking down again. Apparently that punch in the stomach had done some damage.

Jackson glanced at him, assessing his value as a hostage. "I think I'll keep Carter," he said.

"No way." Hogan's response was instant.

"Oh, he's safe enough, Hogan," said Jackson. "I'm not fucking stupid, you know."

Hogan didn't reply immediately to that. Every instinct he possessed was urging him to do whatever it took to get Carter out of this. But his options were limited. Jackson wasn't about to let all his cards fall from his hand, he was keeping at least one ace. Hogan knew Carter was right, his own duty lay at Stalag 13, making sure that whatever plan he set in motion was carried out successfully. Mills was looking pretty bad, he probably needed medical aid as soon as possible. If it came to a choice...

He looked at Carter again. Not a word passed between them, but they both knew what had to be done.

"Carter, can you find your way to rendezvous point X4?" asked Hogan. "It should take about two hours on foot. I'll meet you there at 0400 hours."

Carter nodded. "I can find it, Colonel." He seemed fairly calm, but Hogan recognized the signs. Carter wasn't going to let the bastard know it, but he was terrified. There was only one way to reassure him, and it was scarcely enough.

"Okay, Jackson, we'll do it your way," said Hogan slowly. "But if you hurt him - if he's the worse for this, in any way - then believe me, you won't see it coming."


	24. Chapter 24

LeBeau, standing on the bumper of the truck, lifted his head from under the hood. "Try it now," he called to Newkirk, who was slouched behind the steering wheel, waiting with a grim expression, his hands clenching and relaxing without him being aware of it.

The starter motor turned over a few times, with no result. Newkirk swore, bracing his hand against the dashboard in an effort to stay calm. "Still nothing."

"I'll keep trying." LeBeau turned to Vincent, who was holding the flashlight which illuminated the motor. "Could you hold that steady? You keep moving it, I can't see a thing in there."

"Maybe you should hold the torch, and Vincent could have a look. He knows about machinery, apparently," said Newkirk. His temper was growing increasingly unpleasant, as time passed with no sign of Hogan, with or without company.

"I don't understand combustion engines," replied Vincent curtly, lifting the flashlight to give LeBeau more light.

"Plonker!" muttered Newkirk.

LeBeau was fiddling with the starter. The crease in his forehead, and the tight look around his mouth, had nothing to do with the problem under his hands.

_What if Carter and Mills didn't get out in time?_ He knew Newkirk was thinking it, too, but neither of them would put it into words.

He stopped work abruptly. "I hear something," he whispered.

Newkirk picked up the gun from the seat next to him, and slid out of the cabin in one easy motion. He moved towards the back of the truck, his eyes fixed on the road. For several seconds he saw nothing.

Then a little group came into sight, two men supporting a third between them. Newkirk breathed out, as he recognized them, and he turned his head away, closing his eyes for a few seconds.

Carter wasn't with them.

As they got closer, he went forward. "Let me, Colonel," he said quietly. Hogan gave him a quick look, then surrendered his place, and Newkirk put his arm round Mills and helped Hughes to carry him the rest of the way to the truck.

"It's okay, I can walk," murmured Mills, but neither Hughes nor Newkirk paid any attention.

LeBeau had jumped down from the bumper, and hurtled round the side of the truck. He gazed at the approaching men, and his shoulders dropped.

"Yeah," said Hogan, before he could speak. "He's still got Carter. I need to get back to camp, fast. How's the motor?"

"Not good, _mon colonel_." LeBeau's voice was low. "I think I can get it going, but it will be a slow trip back."

Mills gave a half-suppressed hiss of discomfort, as Newkirk and Hughes lowered him to the ground, his back supported by the rear wheel of the truck. Newkirk stayed with him, one hand on his shoulder. If he was upset that Carter had been left behind, he wasn't going to take it out on Mills.

"I'll have to take the bike," said Hogan. "I'm to meet Jackson in a couple of hours, with everything he needs to get to Switzerland."

"Switzerland? Not England?" LeBeau blinked at him.

"He's dreaming if he thinks..." Newkirk muttered, but Hogan cut him off.

"I'd better take Mills with me. He's had a rough time."

"Begging pardon, Colonel," observed Newkirk after a few seconds, "as it happens, I'm all in favor of getting rid of Jackson by any means available, but have you thought how hard it'll be getting identity papers made up? Let alone..."

"He won't be needing them." Once again Hogan interrupted, and there was a harsh note in his voice his men had never heard.

After a moment he went on, more calmly. "There's likely to be all kinds of trouble when the guards find out Jackson's gone. Better if Vincent and Hughes don't come back into camp, we might have trouble getting them out again. So when you get the truck started, take it straight back to the drop-off point, and wait. I'll get Kinch to contact the Underground, see if they can meet you and take these two off our hands a bit earlier than planned. If not, I'll send you word to bring them in through the emergency tunnel, and we'll try and organize something else. Either way, get back as fast as you can."

"_Oui, Colonel_," murmured LeBeau, seeing that Newkirk was reluctant to risk getting cut off a third time.

"Good. Newkirk, get Mills into the sidecar," said Hogan curtly

Newkirk and LeBeau, both of them subdued by the colonel's manner as well as the news about Carter, complied without delay.

Hogan turned to Hughes and Vincent. "Sorry to have to push you out so fast, but Stalag 13's not going to be as safe as it should be, until we deal with Jackson. He knows too much about us, and he's prepared to sell us out if he doesn't get what he wants. Our people in Hammelburg can be trusted to keep you safe and get you on your way back to London."

Vincent didn't look too happy about it, but Hughes didn't give him a chance to voice his opinion. "If you trust them, sir, that's good enough for us. I'm only sorry I couldn't get a clear shot at Jackson for you. He seems a right bastard, that one."

"Couldn't be helped," replied Hogan. "At least with you on hand, he wasn't game to try anything. I just wish..." He broke off, the crease between his eyebrows deepening.

"Mills is ready, _mon colonel_," said LeBeau, approaching nervously.

Hogan nodded. "I'll be right there." Then, turning back to Hughes and Vincent, he added, "Good luck."

"You too, sir," said Hughes. Vincent gave a murmur of agreement.

Hogan swung round and headed for the motorcycle. Newkirk was still standing by, clearly apprehensive of his commanding officer's mood.

"Colonel..." he began, but once more Hogan cut him off.

"Not now, Newkirk. You've got your orders."

"With respect, sir," Newkirk persisted, "if there's something I did back there that I shouldn't, I'd rather know about it."

Hogan stood still, looking at him, then said quietly, "Okay. Think back a couple of days. I seem to remember issuing a general order to the effect that nobody was to tackle Jackson."

There was a moment of silence.

"You did say that, Colonel," said Newkirk.

"Just now, he mentioned that you'd warned him off."

"I had a word with him." Newkirk raised his chin slightly, meeting Hogan's gaze fair and square. For a few seconds, nobody spoke. Then Newkirk's expression changed, as he suddenly realized what Hogan was getting at.

"That's why he decided to get out, isn't it?" he said softly. "That's why...Colonel, I'm sorry, I never thought..."

"He didn't say so, Newkirk," replied Hogan. "But it seems to have made an impression on him."

Newkirk turned away, biting his lower lip. He couldn't think of anything to say.

"It wasn't just Newkirk, _colonel_." LeBeau had come up behind him. "I was there, too."

"Fine. When this is over, and Carter's safe, you can both report to me. For now, we've got work to do. So let's get on with it."

With a quick glance at his passenger, Hogan mounted the cycle. Mills was leaning slightly forward, one hand pressed against the visible rope burns on his neck. He was in pain, but hanging on.

Hogan looked back towards his men. Newkirk caught the look, straightened up and nodded. Now wasn't the time for self-recrimination. That would come later. Before that they had three priorities: complete the mission, deal with Jackson, and get Carter back unharmed, or at least uninjured.

The chances of achieving even one of them were looking extremely slender, and there couldn't possibly be any hope of bringing them all off. But Hogan, as he drove off, was already working out how he was going to do it.

He wouldn't allow the Stalag 13 operation to be endangered. Nor was he prepared to sacrifice Carter. One way or another, he would have to find a solution.


	25. Chapter 25

"All you had to do was turn around, walk away, and forget you saw anything."

Jackson had been walking back and forth, his eyes scanning the forest for any sign of movement, before he suddenly threw out that statement. Receiving no reply, he resumed his pacing.

Carter watched him through half-closed eyes, too worn out to answer even if he could think of anything to say. He was pretty sure no answer was expected.

Jackson was allowing him a few minutes' rest. The first couple of times he had fallen over, he'd been hauled back onto his feet and made to keep walking. But it was happening too frequently to be ignored. He was getting close to the end of his strength, it was too dark among the trees for him to be able to see the numerous obstacles in his path, and with his hands tied - Jackson was taking no chances - he was unable to prevent himself from hitting the ground pretty hard. The last fall had left him half-stunned, and Jackson had to give him a break, if they were to get to the rendezvous at all.

There was silence for half a minute. Jackson kept moving, almost jumping out of his skin at every sound. Carter, sitting with his back against a tree trunk, continued trying to work his hands free. Some time ago, Newkirk, who had learned the trick before the war from an escape artist on the theatrical circuit, had spent hours passing on the technique, but although LeBeau had mastered it fairly well, Carter had never quite gotten the hang of it. He wished now that he'd paid more attention.

"You want to hear something really funny, Carter?"

_No_, thought Carter, but he didn't speak.

"I didn't even have a problem with Paget. He was harmless enough, didn't bother anyone. There's some of his kind, you just want to kick the shit out of them. But as long as he kept out of the way..."

He broke off, hearing a sudden movement among the branches to one side. There was a moment of silence, then the low call of an owl, and he relaxed, and started talking again.

"You know what's even funnier? I can't even remember whose idea it was. You know what it's like, when you've just finished a mission, made it back alive, you're with your buddies, and you just need to have some fun, let off steam, forget about how fucking scared you were. And everyone's talking at once - _let's go into town, have a few drinks at the Anchor, maybe pick up a couple of girls..._And then, someone starts about Paget. _There's a girl right here on the base, why go to town for it?_"

He fell silent again. Carter closed his eyes for a few seconds, trying to block it out, trying to think of something else. He didn't want to hear this.

"The crazy part is, I remember thinking at the time, that was going too far," Jackson went on. "But the rest of them were all - and you don't go against your pals, right? So I went along with it. And when you showed up...I could have killed you for that, you know."

_Please, just shut up. I don't want to know,_ thought Carter.

"Would have saved some trouble if I had," Jackson went on in a low voice. He took a couple more turns, and went out of Carter's line of sight, but he kept talking.

"It was so stupid. I had it made. I was doing great, making my way up - I was lined up for promotion, you know. Lieutenant. Probably would have made captain before long, maybe better than that by the time I got out of the army. Would have looked real good to the folks back home, after the war. No more dead-end jobs, no more getting treated like dirt. Everything was going to be just peachy. And now, thanks to you, everything's just screwed."

He was silent for a minute, then started up again, almost as if speaking to himself. "I just don't get it. How could it go so fucking wrong, so fucking fast?" The bewilderment in his voice was almost pathetic. He honestly had no idea what the hell had gone wrong on that cold night, so far away.

"You could have stopped it."

It was the faintest of whispers. Carter was almost unaware himself that he had uttered the words aloud, and Jackson responded just as if following his own train of thought.

"I couldn't have done anything, even if I wanted to." A moment's silence, then he gave a bitter laugh. "Listen to me, taking advice from a dead man."

There was no answer to that, so Carter stayed quiet. He wasn't surprised. He'd realized that Jackson's plans, such as they were, didn't include seeing him walk away, but it still wasn't exactly pleasant to hear it confirmed so bluntly. And the chances were that the guy wasn't intending to let Hogan leave the rendezvous alive, either. Carter wasn't sure he cared any more about his own survival, but he couldn't sit back and let the colonel get hurt. There had to be something he could do about it.

Jackson's restless perambulation had brought him back into sight. "Well?" he said impatiently. "Got nothing to say for yourself?"

Carter knew better than to answer. He leaned back against the tree, still working on the knot that secured the rope around his wrists. It had seemed so simple when Newkirk explained it. But it wasn't going well, he'd gotten his thumb caught in it now. Not for the first time, he wondered if Hogan and the other guys would be better off without him. But he pushed the thought to one side. He'd started this mess. It was up to him to fix it, or at least to try.

"What is it with you, Carter?" Jackson had gotten tired of waiting for a reply. "You just sit there, don't answer back, hardly make a sound. It was just the same, back at the 182nd, once we got going. I know it wasn't because you weren't scared. It pissed me off then, and it's starting to piss me off now."

He came close, and dropped on one knee. Carter leaned away slightly, turning his head away. Then he caught his breath, as Jackson's hand closed around his throat, forcing his chin up and around. "Look at me, when I'm talking to you. What's it take, Carter? How scared do you have to get? And how scared are you now?"

Sickened, Carter responded without thinking. "Not as scared as you are."

He knew at once he'd said too much. Jackson remained immobile, staring at him in stupefaction. Then he let go, and backed away, his breathing hard and shallow. For what seemed hours, there was silence. Then Jackson strode forward, grabbed Carter's arm and jerked him to his feet, none too gently.

"Rest period's over. Get moving," he said.

From the tone of his voice, Carter knew he'd better do as he was told. Otherwise things were going to get really nasty.


	26. Chapter 26

"How's Mills doing?"

Hogan looked up as Kinch came back down the ladder from the barracks.

"He's pretty uncomfortable, but the medic's not too worried right now. Says there's no signs of internal bleeding or other major problems, but he has to rest his vocal chords, and rest up as much as possible. And we're to keep an eye on him."

Hogan nodded, his eyes returning on the identity card one of the other men had just finished and brought to him. It was a rush job, not quite up to their usual standard, and the space which should have contained Jackson's photograph was empty.

"I didn't know what to put there, sir," said Adams. "We don't have his photo."

"Just leave it. Jackson's not going to get a good look at it, if we can help it." Hogan nodded in dismissal, and turned to Kinch.

"I want you with me on this one," he said tersely. "But I'm telling you upfront, it's completely voluntary."

"I'm in, Colonel," replied Kinch. "What's the plan?"

"The plan is to keep him from shooting Carter the minute he thinks he doesn't need him any more. The guy's pretty unstable, so I can't give you any definite instructions. We'll have to play it by ear. But there's a couple of complications you need to know about." Hogan paused, his expression firming. "If it's at all possible, we need to take him alive."

Kinch thought about that for a few seconds. "Any particular reason for that?" he asked.

"Plenty. Like it or not, he's on our side. We don't kill our own men," said Hogan. "Not without a fair trial, and no matter how much we think they deserve it. So Jackson gets sent back to England, and they put him away somewhere for the duration."

"You think they can justify it?"

"Attempted murder, kidnapping, blackmail - you think that'll be enough for them, Kinch? He knows enough about our operation to pose a security risk, and he's already threatened to sell us out. On top of that, he's a danger to the other prisoners. That's all London needs to know."

Kinch frowned as he considered what was being asked of him. "It'd be a whole lot easier to just bring him down," he observed.

"Don't tempt me," said Hogan grimly. "I'm not exactly impartial about this. If you knew how much I want him dead..."

"Colonel, I think I do know." Kinch spoke calmly, but there was an angry light in his eye. "Okay, we take him alive, if we can. But if it's a question of Carter's safety..."

"Then you do what you have to." Hogan paused, looking at his second-in-command with a slight frown. "That's why it's voluntary, Kinch. It's not like knocking off the odd Kraut. We take out Jackson, sooner or later questions get asked. We may find ourselves facing an investigation after the war, maybe even a trial. If it comes to that..."

"I told you, Colonel, I'm in," Kinch interrupted. "So, just you and me, or are we taking some of the others?"

"No." Hogan had been considering the option. "More men means more of a risk that Jackson's going to get spooked. If he thinks we're trying to pull a fast one on him, who knows what he might do? I just need one man to keep me covered. And I need that man to keep his head, no matter what. Even if anything's already happened..." He didn't finish the sentence, but the frown deepened.

Kinch hesitated, then spoke quickly, and very softly. "Colonel, like you said, the guy's unstable. But he's not that crazy. Whatever you're afraid might be going on out there, it's not happening." He gave Hogan a moment to absorb that, then added, "At least let Newkirk come along. We could use the extra back-up."

Hogan didn't answer immediately. "Better not," he said at last. He glanced at Kinch, recognized the look of doubt, and added, "It's not up for discussion, Kinch. Newkirk stays here. Not because of what he did, it's just..." He broke off, turning his head. "Not before time," he growled. "What took so long?"

"The bleedin' truck died before we got to the drop-off point," replied Newkirk. "So we had to walk the rest of the way."

He looked tired, more so even than LeBeau who was just behind him.

"What about Vincent and Hughes?" asked Hogan.

"All arranged," said LeBeau. "Franz and Herbert met us, and took them into town. They will spend the next two days as kitchen staff at the Hotel Hammelburg, until they can be moved out."

"Vincent's going to love that," remarked Kinch dryly.

"It'll be good for him." Newkirk was in no mood to be sympathetic.

Hogan cut into the discussion. "We don't have a lot of time," he said. "I'm to meet Jackson at 0400 hours. Kinch will be with me as back-up. You two will stay here."

LeBeau responded instantly, with great indignation. "_Mais, Colonel, c'est complètement fou, vous ne pouvez pas..._"

"It's not negotiable, LeBeau." Hogan didn't even look at him. His eyes were on Newkirk, who hadn't spoken. "Go and get out of that uniform, then go up to the barracks. Kinch, you better get yourself kitted up."

LeBeau continued to glare at him for several seconds, then with a soft exclamation of sheer frustration turned and vanished into the darkness of the tunnel. Kinch had gone on the word, and only Newkirk remained, his chin raised, eyes narrowed

"Colonel, you can't leave me out of this," he said, very low. "It's my business."

Hogan sighed. "I need you here," he replied. Then, as Newkirk started to argue, he held up his hands. "Newkirk, there's no point in kidding ourselves. Jackson's dangerous, and he's unpredictable. On top of that, there are guard patrols out there, and some of them get trigger-happy at night. It's not likely, but there's a possibility this could go wrong, with no warning."

"Then you need me as well as..."

"No. I could have a dozen men out there, it won't change the outcome. Kinch should be able to handle it. But if anything does go wrong, I need someone here who can take charge of operations, someone I can trust to make the hard decisions."

He didn't specify what those decisions were. They both knew already. Newkirk's anger began to cool as he understood. "Wouldn't it be better if Kinch..." he began.

"I want Kinch with me. You've been out all night. Kinch is fresher, not as tired. It could make all the difference, if there's trouble." He waited until he was sure Newkirk had accepted that, then went on. "That being the case, someone else has to mind the store here until I get back. Or if I don't get back, then someone has to make the call as to whether to keep the operation going, or wind it up. And I've only got one man, apart from Kinch, who I can depend on to do the job right."

Newkirk stared at him, his color rising as he came to grips with what Hogan was saying. "Colonel, you haven't thought it through. I'm just a corporal. I'm outranked by half the blokes here. It won't work, you can't put an East End layabout in charge."

"I'm not. What I'm doing is putting my trust in someone who I know won't let me down."

For a few seconds their eyes met, then Newkirk nodded. "I'll take care of it, sir," he said quietly. "You go and bring Carter home."

Hogan nodded. "Put the emergency plan into operation, just in case. But do me a favor, Newkirk. Don't jump the gun. Give us enough time to get home, before you close the tunnel."

"You will take care, sir?" The words seemed to break from Newkirk almost against his will.

"You can bet on it. There's still a certain conversation I want to have with you and LeBeau." The hint of a smile crossed Hogan's face. "You're not getting out of it that easily, Newkirk. When this is over, and Carter's safe, you're still in big trouble."

"I hope so, Colonel," said Newkirk. "I really hope I am."


	27. Chapter 27

"This is it."

Carter stopped in his tracks, so suddenly that Jackson barged into him from behind, and sent him staggering. Only Jackson's grip on his arm prevented him from yet another fall.

They had been following a narrow trail which ran close to an outcrop of granite, bounded on the other side by dense old growth, which gradually widened out to form a small clearing. The path continued on from the other side of the open space, to lead back to Stalag 13. Anyone approaching for the first time would see only one way in, and one way out. But there were other, smaller tracks leading to and from the clearing, almost undetectable except to those who knew the area well.

Hogan and his men knew the area very well indeed. If an unseen approach was part of the plan, this was the place for it.

Jackson looked around suspiciously. "There's nothing here," he said.

_What do you want, a big sign saying "Rendezvous Point"? _thought Carter. He didn't say a word, but Jackson seemed to pick up on his scorn. He uttered a soft, angry growl, pushed Carter towards the rock wall and shoved him to the ground. "Stay there, and keep quiet," he muttered.

He looked at his watch, but there wasn't enough light to read it, and he had to move out into the open. "What'd Hogan say, 0400 hours? So we got thirty-five minutes before he turns up." He took another look at the surroundings. "I hate waiting around," he muttered.

"You don't want to stay in plain sight," said Carter. "Sometimes patrols come out this way."

"Wouldn't have thought that'd worry you, the way things stand." But Jackson was already moving back towards the outcrop. "I guess it'd be embarrassing, huh? If they found you outside camp, in a Kraut uniform. That'd give Hogan a headache, all right." He laughed quietly.

There was silence for what felt like a long time. Jackson, under almost as great a strain as Carter, was getting tired. He sat on a tree stump, not too close, and showed no sign of wanting to make further confidences. In so far as anything could be considered a mercy in this situation, Carter counted that as one. He'd already heard far more than he wanted to.

He watched Jackson as closely as possible, given that he was finding it hard keeping his eyes open. Jackson, still sitting upright, still holding the gun in his hand., seemed to have fallen into a light doze. It gave Carter at least a chance, if he could stay awake long enough to take it. He hadn't quite succeeded in freeing his hands, but the rope around his wrists was definitely looser than it had been. If only Jackson didn't notice what he was up to...

Jackson seemed to be well out of it, but after a while he came around with a start, jumping to his feet. "Jesus!" he muttered, blinking and shaking his head. He checked his watch again. "Can't be right," he whispered, and took the watch off his wrist and held it to his ear. "Damn thing stopped."

For several seconds he stared at it, then he dropped it. "You better have the right time, Carter," he grumbled.

He strode across the gap between them with the clear intent to get a look at his hostage's wristwatch. It was the only chance Carter would get. As soon as Jackson got within range, he kicked out as hard as he could. Jackson took it in the kneecap, and staggered back with a half-choked cry of pain, and with a final effort that tore the skin, Carter dragged one hand out of the slackened loop of rope. As Jackson recovered and started towards him again, he braced himself against the rock and pushed himself forward. The surprise impact threw Jackson off balance, and they both hit the ground hard.

Carter knew he should run for it. Common sense told him to run. But instinct demanded otherwise. He had to try to get the gun away from Jackson before anyone got hurt. Flinging himself forward, he gripped Jackson's wrist with both hands, throwing all his remaining strength into pinning it down.

It wasn't enough. Jackson was too strong. He rolled over, grabbed Carter's arm with his free hand and got to his feet, dragging Carter with him. For several seconds they stood eye to eye, Carter still hanging on even though he knew it was pointless.

"Nice try, Carter," said Jackson in a low voice. "You should have taken off. But you were never very smart, were you? That's your trouble. You just don't know how to pick your fights."

"Maybe not. But at least I don't need all my pals with me before I've got the guts to take on one guy," Carter shot back.

There was a very long silence before Jackson answered him. "Once I've taken care of Hogan," he said softly, "we'll see about that, won't we?"

He threw Carter back against the rock face, so hard that for a second Carter thought he'd cracked a rib. Jackson, still gripping his arm, forced him to the ground, then yanked the watch off his wrist, and retreated to peer at it in the moonlight. He still held the gun, and looked as if the prospect of using it was starting to look real good.

"Three minutes to four. Your boss is cutting it real fine," he remarked nastily.

_He'll be here,_ thought Carter. But he was almost starting to hope the colonel wouldn't show.

* * *

Hogan was only a couple of minutes away. He was holding back as long as he dared, to give Kinch enough time to get into position.

The plan was simple. "If I tell him the escape route is in the direction of Stalag 13, he'll be suspicious right away," said Hogan. "We'll have to get him started in the other direction. So that's where you'll be waiting. Can you find your way around without being spotted?"

"Easy, Colonel," replied Kinch.

"Good. Keep out of sight, on one of the side trails. Don't let him see you. And don't take any risks. If you have to fire a warning shot, aim high."

"You're sure he won't just shoot both you and Carter as soon as he's got the escape package?"

Hogan smiled slightly, and shook his head. "Can't be sure of anything with Jackson. But he doesn't know how to contact the Underground, so he still needs my co-operation. And he knows he won't get that, if any harm comes to Carter. I just need to make sure I reinforce it a little."

He nodded towards the trees. "I'll delay as long as I can, so you can get into position. Get going."

Without another word, Kinch disappeared into the forest. Hogan adjusted his grip on the suitcase containing the escape package, and continued along the main trail. He had to make a conscious effort to slow his steps, aware that if he arrived too soon at the rendezvous, it would throw the whole scheme out of step. But it was a long time since he'd found himself approaching any mission with such a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He was pretty sure he had a handle on Jackson's character. Everything depended on whether he was right. If he had misjudged, the cost was going to be high.

As he neared the rendezvous point, he stopped for a couple of minutes. The forest had never seemed so quiet, it was as if there was no living creature within miles, only himself. The meeting point lay only a few yards away, but he hardly believed Jackson would be there. As for Carter...

Hogan looked up at the dark canopy of trees, and the narrow strip of night sky above. He had no doubts on that score. Carter would get there, if he was still alive.

0400 hours. It was time. Hogan took a deep breath, brought his mind into focus, and set off. He no longer felt nervous, now the game had started. He knew his opponent, he knew his own game, he knew what the stakes were. This was a contest he meant to win.


	28. Chapter 28

Jackson moved as soon as Hogan came into view. Once again, Carter was to act as protection, dragged onto his feet to stand between Jackson and any threat, real or imagined, that might be present.

_Here we go again_, thought Carter.

Hogan stopped a couple of yards away. He didn't look at Jackson, but kept his eyes on Carter, whose state of near exhaustion was evident even in the pale reflected light of the moon.

"I thought I made it clear," said Hogan. "Carter wasn't to be hurt in any way."

"Just normal wear and tear. He's not hurt." Jackson gave Carter's arm a jerk, forcing him upright. "Just ask him, if you don't believe me."

Hogan didn't ask. He held up the case. "Your escape package. Civilian clothes, identity papers and enough money to see you to the Swiss border."

Jackson gazed at the case, as if wondering where the trap was. "Open it," he said brusquely.

For a few seconds, Hogan just looked at him, then he lifted the case to a horizontal position, snapped open the fasteners and lifted the lid. "No booby traps," he said mildly.

"So where's the catch?"

"No catch."

"Okay." Jackson gestured with the gun. "Put it down, and move back."

Hogan closed the case. "Oh, there is one thing, Jackson," he said, almost as an afterthought. "There's no instructions on how to contact the Underground. See, there's a bit of a problem with that. They don't just open the door to anyone off the street. You turn up without someone they recognize to vouch for you, they assume you're Gestapo, and they bury you so deep, nobody's ever going to find you. If they're feeling benevolent, they might make sure you're dead first."

He paused, studying the effect of his words. This was the trickiest part of the whole plan, the point at which the slightest misjudgement could prove fatal. Jackson had to be scared, but not so scared that he would panic, or refuse the lifeline when it was thrown to him.

"So here's the deal," Hogan went on. "I don't like you, Jackson, and I'd be quite happy to see you get what's due. But I'm prepared to trade off on that. You agree to let Carter go unharmed, and I'll hand you over safely to the Underground."

From the rapid movements of Jackson's eyes, and the shifting of his facial muscles, it was clear he was trying to work out how to gain the upper hand in this.

"No," he said at last. "If I let him go, what's to stop you or your Underground pals pulling a double cross on me? Once I'm well on my way, then I'll think about it."

Hogan hadn't really expected anything else. He refrained from pointing out the details which would not go unnoticed by any Underground contact: Carter's SS uniform, his obvious state of physical and mental fatigue, and the self-evident fact that Jackson was holding him under duress. If Jackson was so far from rational that he hadn't thought of those himself, Hogan didn't feel the need to bring him up to date.

"Fine. Have it your way," he said. "Just bear in mind, anything happens to either of us, you won't get much co-operation from the other. And you need our co-operation."

He picked up the suitcase. "Hammelburg's that way."

"You go in front, Hogan." Jackson drew back, keeping Carter close, to let Hogan go past, then fell in behind.

"Better keep quiet," Hogan murmured, as they left the clearing and the trees closed in around them. "I didn't see any sign of a guard patrol on the way here, but this is their week for covering the area round here. And they have a habit of shooting before they call halt, rather than after."

Jackson didn't respond to that, but Hogan could hear how fast he was breathing.

He deliberately set a slow pace as they made their way along the narrow track, partly to reduce the effort demanded of Carter, who was having trouble keeping his feet, but mostly because he couldn't be sure of Kinch's whereabouts. The plan had been constructed in haste, and he'd had to leave the details for Kinch to work out himself.

They were only a few minutes' walk past the rendezvous point, when Jackson stopped dead. "Hold it."

"What's wrong?" murmured Hogan.

"Thought I heard something."

Hogan listened, his eyes scanning the dark tangle of trees bordering the path. "There's nothing there. Pretty jumpy, aren't you, pal?"

Jackson gave voice to a soft, angry growl. "There's someone out there," he muttered. "Who'd you bring with you?"

Hogan shook his head, slowly. "You hear anything, Carter?" He gazed into the darkness for a few more seconds. "Oh, crap," he murmured, under his breath.

"What?" Jackson's voice came out in a harsh whisper.

"Could be the Krauts," said Hogan softly. He glanced at Jackson, his eyes narrowing. "We need to get off this trail, we're too exposed."

Jackson wavered. "Bullshit. This is a trick, right?"

Hogan sighed. "Look, pal, paranoia's all right in its place, but this isn't the place or the time. Carter's wearing an SS uniform. That's enough to get all of us a visit to Gestapo headquarters, followed by an appointment with a firing squad."

"Colonel, he'll sell us out on the spot," Carter put in tightly. "Please..." He broke off abruptly with a sharp intake of breath, as Jackson wrenched his arm back. But he kept his eyes fixed on Hogan. He understood the situation, all right.

"Easy, Carter. Don't lose your head now. Jackson, you can keep us arguing here if you want to," Hogan went on. "But trust me, you don't want to find yourself playing Information Please with the Gestapo."

"He'll be okay." Carter's voice shook a little. "All he has to do is tell them..."

"Carter!" Hogan said sharply. He glanced at Jackson, and could see the wheels turning as the man calculated the risk and looked for a strategy to save his own neck. "This is serious, Jackson. We better get moving."

Jackson nodded, but it was clear that he was on edge, and ready to start yelling _Kamerad_ if a rabbit crossed the path. They walked on in silence for another two minutes.

The shout came so unexpectedly that even Hogan felt his heart almost leap through the top of his head. "_Halt! Sofort stehen bleiben!_"

Jackson swung round, keeping Carter between him and the source of the unfamiliar voice. "Oh, fuck," he muttered.

"That's one way of putting it," agreed Hogan in an undervoice, turning slowly and raising his hands.

There was nothing to be seen, but from the cover of the woods came another sharply worded order: "_Waffe fallen lassen!_"

"What'd he say?" hissed Jackson.

"Drop the gun," Hogan whispered back.

"Not a chance." Jackson raised the weapon, and shrank behind Carter, who remained immobile, staring wide-eyed into the forest shadows.

"Jackson, don't be an idiot. You can't expect to hide behind Carter, they don't care what happens to him. They'll shoot him to get a clear line on you. And then they'll shoot both of us as well, to make sure there's no witnesses."

For a few moments it appeared Jackson would hold his nerve, but finally he lowered the gun and threw it to one side. Hogan breathed easier. He'd read the man right, after all.

Then Carter suddenly twisted out of Jackson's grip, snatched up the pistol and swung round. Jackson, making a belated attempt to stop him, froze as he found himself staring at the business end of the weapon he'd kept such a firm grip on for so many hours, now in the hands of the man he'd put through hell.

Neither of them said a word.

"It's okay, Carter," said Hogan, after a brief, tense silence. "Kinch has him covered."

"I know," replied Carter, but he didn't lower the gun.

Kinch had emerged from the darkness of the trees, his own weapon trained on Jackson, his attention unwavering, and Hogan moved, going behind Jackson to get to Carter's side.

"You better give me the gun, Carter," he said, in a very soft voice. "Whatever it is you're thinking, it's better if you don't do it. Trust me, Carter. You don't want to do it. He's not worth the trouble."

Carter didn't reply, but his eyebrows drew together as he listened. Nor did he resist when Hogan reached out and took the gun from his hand. He remained still for several seconds, then suddenly he took a deep, shuddering breath. His legs buckled, and he dropped to the ground, his fall partly arrested by Hogan's supporting grip on his arm.

"Hogan, you bastard. You set me up." The exclamation from Jackson was so expressive of outraged indignation that Hogan almost laughed.

"Call it a learning experience, Jackson," he replied.

He crouched beside Carter, one hand on his shoulder. It had been a team effort, and Carter had done his bit towards gaining his freedom, somehow picking up on Hogan's tactics and joining in the performance. But the night's events had taken him to his limit, and it wasn't over yet. They still had to get him home.

Hogan switched his attention towards Jackson.

"Now you know, whatever it was like at the 182nd, the rules are different here," he said, with a grim smile. "At Stalag 13, we look after our own."


	29. Chapter 29

Of necessity the return to Stalag 13 was slow. Jackson was sullen and recalcitrant, and Carter barely able to keep going. He did his best, but Hogan almost had to carry him.

Jackson was behind them, aware that Kinch, bringing up the rear, was watching for any sign of trouble. Something in the quiet black man's calm determination was even more fearsome than Hogan's anger or Carter's bitter hatred. He wouldn't think twice before taking the appropriate action, if Jackson tried anything.

They were almost within sight of camp when Hogan came to an abrupt standstill, then turned to Kinch, and jerked his head towards the undergrowth.

The chances of meeting a patrol round here were always high, but he couldn't help thinking it was a pretty rough coincidence that it should happen tonight.

He drew Carter toward the shelter of the bushes. Kinch prompted Jackson in that direction as well. But Jackson had guessed why, and saw his opportunity. Without warning he spun round and hurled himself at Kinch in an uncontrolled shoulder-charge. Kinch staggered, regained his feet and made a grab at him, but Jackson's desperation gave him a rush of energy that carried him past.

He was still within range, and Kinch was a good enough shot to bring him down, but now he didn't dare risk it. He held fire, but went in pursuit. Hogan suppressed the urge to call him back, as the sound of running feet reached him from the other direction. As quickly as he could, he steered Carter to shelter.

A few moments later, he heard the guards going past, four or five of them. He kept low, shielding Carter from sight, until it went quiet again. Then he raised his head cautiously. There was no sign of Jackson, nor of Kinch. Hogan waited, every nerve taut.

A single shot rang out in the distance. Ten seconds passed, then came a ragged volley of gunfire.

Hogan didn't give himself time to think what might have happened. Whatever it was, it was bad. All he could do now was get Carter back within bounds, before all hell broke loose.

"Sorry, Carter," he said in an undertone. "But we have to move. Kinch will make his own way back." At least, he hoped Kinch would. Ignoring Carter's fragmentary protests, he got him on his feet and set off, fast.

They were only three minutes from the emergency entrance. But if the shots had been heard at Stalag 13, three minutes could see the whole guard contingent on the move.

Three minutes had never passed so slowly, nor so rapidly.

Within feet of the entrance, Hogan stopped. The alarm hadn't yet sounded, but the spotlight was sweeping back and forth, as if the guard in the tower was searching for the source of the gunfire.

At a sudden rustling, Hogan tensed, then relaxed. "What happened to Jackson?"

"Lost him, Colonel," admitted Kinch. "But I think someone found him."

"Yeah, we heard it, too." Hogan's eyes were on the spotlight. "Okay, I think I've got the pattern. Three - two - one -" The light flashed across the tree stump over the entrance. "Okay, let's move."

As they scrambled towards the entrance, a single thought surfaced in his mind:

_Please don't let Newkirk close the tunnel now._

* * *

"Everything set?" asked Newkirk, as LeBeau and a couple of others came up from below.

"All in order. The radio, code books and all the weapons are safe in the blind tunnel," said LeBeau. "And the tunnel entrance to Barracks 8 is backfilled twenty feet."

"Right. Get cleaned up, and then come back. I want everyone here in five minutes."

He went over to the table, where Mills, by flashlight, was working on the detonation mechanism for the explosive charge which would close off the main tunnel entrance. In spite of his injuries, Mills had insisted he was the best man for the job, and Newkirk had let him go ahead.

"How's it going?" he asked.

"Just about done," replied Mills.

"Hopefully it won't be such a big bang as the last time we had to do it," remarked Newkirk, with a slightly hollow laugh. The previous occasion had been the result of an indiscretion on his part, and he'd never allowed himself to forget it.*

"How will you explain it?" asked Mills.

"We won't have to set it off, the colonel will get back," Newkirk replied, without hesitation. "But if we did...well, did you know they have earth tremors round these parts? No, I thought you didn't. Neither does Klink. Or anyone else. But they will, once I get that lad in Barracks 4, the one who used to work in the seismology office in Singapore, to tell 'em about it."

There was the ghost of a smirk on his face as he spoke, but his eyes remained serious, as he went to the sink and raised the faucet to engage the outside periscope set-up. He'd done that every twenty minutes since Hogan and Kinch had left.

"If this is what being in charge is like, they can keep it," he muttered.

The other men were gathering round the table in the dim light, waiting for final instructions. Newkirk had no idea what he was going to say. But the look on each man's face told him whatever he said, they trusted him. He took a deep breath, and began.

"Right. You all know what the go is. If anything goes badly wrong out there, we have to lie low until it's safe to start operations again. Now, I've got no doubts at all, the colonel will get back. But it's only fair to let you know, if the worst happens, we might find ourselves facing a few awkward questions. Things could get a bit uncomfortable. So if anyone wants out, now's the time to put your hand up." He paused, waiting for a response. Nobody made a sound, but from the other side of the table, LeBeau met his eyes, and smiled slightly.

Newkirk cleared his throat, and went on. "Glad that's settled. Mills, you got that thing wired up ready?"

"All set," replied Mills.

"Don't set it off unless I give the word. The rest of you - "

He broke off, as a sound, distant but unmistakable, reached the barracks. They all knew what a rifle shot sounded like, and for ten seconds nobody breathed.

"Oh, shit," muttered someone, as they heard the following volley.

The words broke Newkirk's paralysis. "Everyone but Mills and LeBeau, get to the far end of the barracks," he said sharply. "Louis, watch the door. Mills, stand by."

He went back to the sink, turning the periscope back towards the woods beyond the wire. LeBeau, at the door, had a clear view of the compound. Mills stayed where he was, his hand on the switch. Everyone else was at the farthest point from the tunnel entrance, braced for the blast if it should happen.

For three minutes, there was silence. Newkirk's eyes ached with the effort of watching for the slightest movement around the tunnel entrance.

Thirty seconds more, then he would give the order. But thirty seconds passed, and still he held back.

"They're getting busy out there," hissed LeBeau.

"Wait," murmured Newkirk.

Then at the limit of his vision, he saw a shadow, or a group of shadows, darting towards the tree stump.

"Stand down," he said, holding up one hand to reinforce the order. "They just made the tunnel. Get ready in case of a barracks check. LeBeau - "

He was on his way down the ladder before Mills had even taken his hand off the detonator. He'd never covered the distance between the barracks and the emergency exit so fast, and LeBeau was right behind him.

At first sight of Carter, safe in Kinch's arms, Newkirk stopped in his tracks. LeBeau flung himself on them, exclaiming distractedly in an incomprehensible mixture of two languages. But Newkirk was unable to get a word out. For the last three hours, he had been convinced he'd never see Carter again.

"No time for that, LeBeau," said Hogan, as he reached floor level. "We lost Jackson in the woods, but we heard shots, so he's probably been picked up, or picked off. Either way, we're in for trouble."

Nobody waited for instructions. LeBeau and Newkirk took charge of Carter, rapidly divested him of the incriminating uniform, and rushed him back to the barracks. A few muffled cheers greeted his appearance, but they were interrupted by the sudden harsh tone of the alarm bell. Whatever had happened in the woods, word had just got back.

Hogan vanished into his quarters without a word. Carter was bundled unceremoniously into his bunk, still half-dressed, and the others made for bed with all speed.

They just made it. Only a few seconds later, Schultz burst in, snapping on the lights. "_Achtung_! Nobody is to move. Colonel Hogan - " He was unusually agitated, his eyes wide, hands shaking so he could hardly keep hold of his rifle.

"What's up, Schultz?" asked Newkirk, leaning over the edge of the bunk, sleepy irritation in his voice. "Klink lose his monocle again?"

"No talking. Nobody is to leave the barracks, not for any reason whatsoever." Schultz turned, as Hogan emerged from his quarters, straightening his shirt collar. "Colonel Hogan, you are wanted urgently. There has been..." He trailed off, clearly searching for the right word. "There has been an incident," he finished lamely.

"How serious?" asked Hogan.

"The worst. You must come right away. And all the prisoners are to stay away from the windows and door."

"Okay, Schultz, I'm going." Hogan left the barracks with Schultz on his heels. Almost immediately, Newkirk dropped from his bunk, and bent over Carter.

"All right, Andrew?" he said, in an unusually gentle tone.

Carter was breathing in shallow, uneven gasps, and blinking hard, and he gave a slight start as Newkirk sat on the edge of the bed.

"Easy, Newkirk," said Kinch. "He's had a rough night."

LeBeau had scampered to the washbasin, and came back with a damp cloth and a bowl of water. Without a word, he began gently wiping the streaks of sweat and dirt from Carter's face.

Nobody spoke again until Hogan returned, almost fifteen minutes later. He came in slowly, and his expression was grim. He stopped in the middle of the barracks, and looked around.

"I'm afraid things are going to be difficult for a few days," he said. "Sergeant Jackson was spotted outside the wire by the night patrol. They called on him to surrender, one warning shot was fired, and as he didn't stop, they proceeded accordingly." He paused, and glanced towards Carter, before he concluded. "He was killed instantly. I've just identified the body."

There was total silence in the barracks. Hogan gave them a few moments, then went on. "There won't be any assembly today. For now, we're confined to barracks. LeBeau, what about some coffee? I think everyone could use it."

He moved across to Carter's bunk, effectively blocking it from the sight of the other men. "Okay, Newkirk," he said quietly. "I'll deal with it."

He took Newkirk's place, and put a hand on Carter's shoulder. Carter was quite still, and looked as if he'd fallen asleep. Perhaps he had. But Hogan doubted it.

He was under no illusions. It might be over as far as Jackson was concerned. But Carter had been taken right to the brink. The journey back was going to be hard.

* * *

* Sticky Wicket Newkirk.


	30. Chapter 30

Three days passed before the prisoners were allowed out of the barracks, and even then security remained tight.

Jackson's escape attempt, with its unfortunate conclusion, was going to hang over Stalag 13 for a long time. His death meant Klink was under pressure from above, and he was responding as might have been expected. Lieutenant Simms and the other members of Jackson's crew had already been shipped off to other camps in case they had any ideas, and those remaining behind found themselves under a regime of such harshness as had never been seen here before.

At last, however, Hogan's remonstrations to the Kommandant had some effect, and the prisoners were allowed outside for exercise. But it wasn't exactly comfortable. The guards were on edge, expecting any minute to be faced with the natural anger of men who had lost one of their own.

"If they only knew," observed Newkirk under his breath, as he prepared to serve the volleyball. Those within earshot sniggered. Nobody was breaking their heart over Sergeant Jackson. Even though most of them didn't know the full story, they knew Carter had been through a bad time. That was enough.

Mills, in defiance of the medic's instructions, had joined in the game, but Carter wasn't playing. He hadn't said much since his safe return to camp, although he was clearly glad to be back among friends, and relieved that no questions were being asked. Physically and emotionally, he still had a lot of ground to make up, and it would be some time before he regained any semblance of the exuberant character they were used to. For now he was staying quiet.

Hogan came out of the barracks. He sent a quick look at Carter, who was leaning against the wall watching the game. His air of nervous tension had eased, but it wasn't gone altogether. Nor would it lift as long as he was waiting to find out what his part in operations would be from now on, or if he would even have a part at all.

It hadn't been an easy decision for Hogan.

The ball flew high, past the players on the side nearest the gate, and Mills ran to fetch it. As he bent to pick it up, he stiffened momentarily, and he was slow to turn back.

"Mills, get over here," said Hogan. "I thought the medic told you to take it easy."

"With all due respect, Colonel, the medic's an old woman," replied Mills.

"Okay, he's an old woman. But I'm not. So if I tell you to take a break, you better do it." Hogan was smiling, but there was a gleam in his eyes that all his men knew well. Mills read the signals, capitulated, and tossed the ball to LeBeau.

"If it's an order, sir," he said. He glanced from Hogan to Carter, recognized that his presence would be awkward, and murmured, "I'll just go into the barracks, and..." His voice trailed off as he made himself scarce.

Hogan joined Carter along the barracks wall. "How are you holding up?" he asked.

"Okay, I guess," said Carter. He kept his eyes on the game. After a pause, he added, "It feels weird, Colonel. I was thinking, when you said he was dead, I ought to be happy about it, but..."

Hogan didn't say a word. Right now it wouldn't take much for Carter to go back into his shell. That was the last thing they wanted.

"Thing is, I kind of felt sorry for him, in the end. He said some stuff, when it was just me and him, and...That sounds really stupid, doesn't it?"

"No, it doesn't," replied Hogan, after a moment's thought, "but I wouldn't be too quick to take anything he said at face value. He was a sick son of a bitch, he may have been messing with you."

"Yeah, maybe." Carter fell silent again.

"Mills is a pretty good guy," he said, a minute or so later.

"He sure is." Hogan didn't look at him. "He did a good job at Samberg. I have a feeling he's going to be very useful in the future."

"Uh-huh." Carter's voice was quiet, his expression resigned. "And he gets on with the other guys, so..." Once again his voice faltered into silence.

"That's a big point in his favor," said Hogan. "If he can work well in a team operation, then we can use him. And it's time we had some back-up. The war's heating up, we're going to have a lot more jobs coming through in the next few months. We're going to need a second team, maybe even a third one. Mills is a start."

He glanced at Carter, who was looking perplexed. "Uh, Colonel..." he began, then halted, unsure of what Hogan meant.

Hogan proceeded to enlighten him. "Carter, I've had to give your situation a lot of thought. There's no point in glossing it over. I know what happened had an effect on you - a big effect. The thing is, until Jackson turned up here, you were dealing with it, you were doing good work, and you were making an important contribution to what we do here. Now what I need to know is how soon you think you'll be ready to get back to work."

Carter was looking at him incredulously. "You mean you still want me on the team?"

"I need you on the team, Carter. You're one of the best explosive experts around, I can't spare you. But there's more to it than that. You're a good soldier, and a good man. I don't want to lose that." He paused, watching as Carter tried to take that in.

"I don't know if I'm up for it, Colonel," murmured Carter. "What happens if I can't handle it?"

"That's why I'm leaving it up to you," said Hogan. "If you really feel like you can't do it any more, you come and tell me, and I won't say another word about it. But you handled yourself well at Samberg, under very difficult conditions. You saved Mills' life, and probably Newkirk's as well. I can't ask for better than that."

He waited for a few seconds before he threw in the sweetener. "There's a munitions train due to pass through the area in a few days, and London have asked us to delay it, permanently. And I do love your work with munitions trains."

Carter didn't answer him at once. Hogan waited, then added quietly, "Andrew, those bastards did some damage. I'm not going to pretend they didn't. But if you let what they did stop you from getting on with your life, then they never really finish with you, do they? You're a good man. Don't let them take that away."

Although Carter was to all appearances watching the volleyball players again, Hogan could see the involuntary twitch of a muscle in his cheek, as he considered this new viewpoint.

"A munitions train, you said?" said Carter after a while.

"Passing through Hammelburg on its way east," replied Hogan.

"It'll have to cross the Braunsteg railway bridge, right? If I can have the bridge as well, you got yourself a deal, boy...sir." The familiar correction came so naturally that Hogan almost laughed aloud. He knew it wasn't over, not yet, but at least they'd made a start.

"You can have the bridge, Carter," he said, "and I like the way you're thinking. I have a feeling that this is going to be fun."

"Yeah, we'll have a blast." The faintest gleam of light was back in Carter's eyes. Probably he would never again be the same young man they'd sent back to England, but as a glimmer of enthusiasm broke through, Hogan began to hope that, in time, they might get back the Carter they knew.

It wasn't finished. Somewhere, there were still four men just as culpable as Jackson had been. Hogan hadn't asked Carter yet, but sooner or later he was going to need their names. There was no possibility of taking the matter further, no point in dragging Carter through the torment of giving evidence, no chance of ever seeing the culprits pay for what they had done. But still, Hogan needed those names.

The next time one of them turned up at Stalag 13, he was going to be ready.

* * *

_Endnote: Thanks to all my readers for staying with me. _


End file.
